Falling Slowly
by PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: When Henry is kidnapped by the Evil Queen, Emma rushes to save him. Along the way, she receives the help of a ship's captain with a shared past, though she has no idea just how deep that shared past really goes.
1. Chapter One

**I began this story almost two years ago, but for a variety of reasons, I just couldn't seem to finish it. When I heard about the Captain Swan Big Bang, I thought it would be a great opportunity to finally wrap it up. So here it is!**

 **The point of the Big Bang was not only to motivate authors to complete a big project, but also to pair authors with artists, who would then create art specifically for that story. I was beyond fortunate to have been paired up with swankkat (on Tumblr as snokone-lady and as swankkat), who is both a lovely, amazing person, and an extremely talented artist. She is providing art for _every single chapter_ , and I have been completely floored. The cover art for this story here on ffnet is her work, and I urge you to head over to her Tumblr(s) to support her. Honestly, I kind of demand it, since I won't be able to post any of the art inside the text here for you to enjoy.**

 **Thanks again to swankkat for both the art _and_ beta-read, and to zengoalie, scapeartist, and optomisticgirl for beta-reading and providing great feedback!**

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Emma sighed heavily as her political advisors left her study; she immediately sent for a servant to run to the kitchens and bring her a mug of chocolate. Drinking chocolate was a luxury, and while she considered it a privilege she was granted as a princess, it was still a rare enough delicacy that she only indulged in it during times of great stress.

And this, she was sure, qualified as a time of great stress.

It just didn't seem possible that the Evil Queen and her relentless army could just _vanish_ into thin air, even taking powerful magic into account. Impossibility aside, there seemed to be no reason for it either; if Regina was going to successfully destroy Snow White and David's happiness, why would she disappear?

It was an easy question to answer: she _wouldn't._ Regina was up to something, as usual, and Emma was entirely at a loss for how to handle the situation.

It didn't help that she had enough on her plate as it was already. Rumplestiltskin was frustrated with what he considered to be a lack of respect from her father, whose requests for magical assistance had been "too much like demands," and Emma now had to mediate the situation. She'd also just learned last week that the measures she'd taken to address the mild drought over the summer had been insufficient. _And_ if that weren't enough for her to deal with already, this very afternoon, Henry and a scullery maid had been discovered together, lip-locked, in a pantry.

 _That_ was more distressing than she cared to admit. Henry was nearly fourteen now, around the same age she had been when she'd begun kissing people in pantries, but it was very difficult to think of him as anything except a child. Moreover, it wouldn't do to have Henry continue to grow up believing that it was acceptable to be so careless with his dalliances. She knew he was restless and unhappy in his role as a prince, but this wasn't the solution.

It was situations like these ones that made her miss Baelfire. If he were here, he could take Henry aside to him on discretion without their son rolling his eyes and making an irritated comment about royal decorum. And Bae was the only person she'd ever known who could soothe his father's tempers, whereas she was barely adequate in that role; she wished he were here so she could send him to knock some sense into the Dark One.

A soft tap on the door signified that her chocolate had arrived. She thanked the gods for the speedy service and called for the servant to enter. She could not wait until the messenger she had sent returned from Rumplestiltskin's estate: he would have some idea of what to do, her parents would enact a plan, she'd talk to Henry about his behavior, and everything would be _fine_. She just needed to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that the situation was even worse than it appeared.

The following day, Rumplestiltskin's reply requested that she and her parents (or whichever one of them was available immediately, given that they rarely agreed to be in the same room together) should come to his estate for a private meeting. Normally, Emma would be happy to offer her own estate to host such a meeting, since she lived halfway between her father-in-law's lands and her parents' castle, but she agreed that Rumplestiltskin's estate was the better choice in these circumstances.

Rumplestiltskin employed no one in his household, relying on magic instead of servants. Part of the agreement of their alliance with Rumplestiltskin was that the door would always be open to the royal family. But anyone else who tried to infiltrate would likely meet their untimely, painful end; Rumplestiltskin still had quite a temper, especially since Bae had died. Therefore his home would offer the most security and privacy, which was crucial if they were meeting to discuss Regina.

And so Emma sent messages to her mother and father, ordered a carriage to be readied, and arranged for her and Henry's belongings to be packed. Henry seemed a bit anxious about the journey, though Emma couldn't tell if his anxiety had to do with the discussion he was expecting regarding the scullery maid, or if he was anticipating dangers along the road.

Both issues weighed heavily on her mind, though there was nothing she could do about the awkwardness of the former situation. As for the latter, she had more control: she ensured that they would have extra guards to escort them, and that they would take the fastest route to the Dark One's manor. This was no time to worry about having the smoothest ride, or traveling through some of the more populated villages to stop for a meal. Due to a spell enacted by the Dark One years ago, Regina couldn't directly cause them physical harm, but agents in her command still could. They still needed to be careful.

They left the following dawn, and the heavy morning mist was foreboding. As she expected, Henry was sullen and defensive as she tried to explain her concerns regarding his budding love life. She gave up after a few awkward minutes and stared out the tiny window. Perhaps she could ask Leo to talk to him instead; Henry idolized his uncle and would probably heed his advice.

As they reached the end of the road through the forest, not quite one third of the way to their destination, there was a shout of warning from the guards leading the carriage. They came to a relatively abrupt halt, and the coachwoman opened the carriage door. "My apologies, Your Highness," she said. "There is a fallen tree on the road. We shall attempt to remove it, but we may have to turn around and seek an alternate route."

"I see," Emma replied impassively. It was clearly no one's fault, but given the circumstances, the inconvenience seemed almost menacing; Henry was visibly alarmed by the situation. "I'd like to take a look." The coachwoman nodded and gave Emma her hand to help her out of the carriage.

She felt the strangest sense of _déjà vu_ as she approached the massive tree blocking the road. It was certainly too long to go around in the carriage, which would have tipped over in the uneven underbrush of the forest. "Where is the nearest turn-off to take a different route?" she called out to the coachwoman.

"Approximately one league back," the woman replied. Emma frowned. She was reluctant to turn back around and lose that time; the longer they were on the road, the more danger they were in. But if they couldn't clear the road—and with the size of the tree, they were unlikely to—then they would either have to turn around anyway or continue on horseback. She did not like the idea of being out in the open in such uncertain circumstances.

Something else was bothering her, though. As a guard beckoned her over to the side of the road, to one end of the tree, she recalled a story about her parents. Snow White had cut down a tree, intending to block someone's carriage and rob them. She'd been targeting Regina's loyalists, but instead, she blocked the very road that David had been traveling down with his fiancée.

This situation reminded her of her parents' story. As she leaned over to examine the base of the fallen tree, she realized why.

The tree had been deliberately cut. This was an ambush.

After that split-second realization, as though it were a cue, the attack began. Black knights in Regina's livery had surrounded the road, and by the time Emma spun back to face the carriage, the coachwoman had already collapsed, sliding off of a black knight's blade and crumbling to the ground. Henry clambered out of the carriage, his own sword already drawn, and her sheathed sword in his other hand; he tossed it to her, and she quickly drew it and assessed the situation.

They had taken ten guards with them—typically, they would have only brought four or five—and there were at least twenty black knights in front of her. There would certainly be more behind her; they were likely surrounded. How had so many of Regina's soldiers made it this far into her parents' kingdom without being noticed? Probably magic, she thought disgustedly, and likely the same foul stuff that had permitted Regina to vanish in the first place.

Her annoyance with magic faded, and panic rose in its place: there was no way to win against so many of Regina's soldiers. And Regina rarely accepted surrender.

She and Henry would have to fight until they were dead.

She shoved the thought of her son dying out of her mind with brutal force and jogged towards the nearest knight. She would deal with the situation at hand, and then deal with whatever came next when she knew what that would be.

The first three soldiers went down quickly; Emma suspected that Regina had failed to brief her lackeys on the crown princess' fighting abilities. Instead, they learned of her skills by way of a blade severing their major arteries and veins in the small gaps in their mail and armor.

The next several soldiers posed more of a threat, especially since they seemed to be communicating well with each other; she only just managed to dodge a particularly well-executed strike which left a sizable gash in her gown. It also caused her to lose a bit of her balance, and another soldier managed to draw blood from her sword arm. It wasn't enough to impair her abilities, but she knew that the hit would raise enemy morale.

But soon enough, she'd dispatched the small group, and when she turned, she saw that some of her own guards were fending off enemy combatants effectively. That was promising; perhaps this wasn't entirely hopeless?

Meanwhile, she couldn't see Henry, although he might have been behind the carriage. She tried to quell her fear by reminding herself that he'd been training with a sword since he was small. But this was the first time he was required to _fight_ —she narrowly dodged a blade. Had she been distracted with worry for one more second, she might have lost her hand. She _had_ to focus, especially with survival still a possibility. And so another black knight went down, and then another, falling victim to her training and talent.

But there were inexplicably more and more soldiers. Every time Emma was able to catch her breath, another one of her guards was on the ground, dead or dying. Any chances of victory began to fade. She spat, bitter that she'd let herself have false hope.

And then the soldiers stopped; she nearly fell forward mid-parry when the particular man she'd been fighting backed away suddenly. They were retreating, not fearfully but deliberately—why?

"Well, dear, it looks like this wasn't the best day for you to be traveling."

She knew that voice. She felt a dull pang of satisfaction that, at the very least, the Evil Queen had shown up for her own battle. Emma turned around slowly, but immediately wished she hadn't.

Regina stood several yards away, in front of the carriage, her arm hooked tightly around Henry. As if this scenario weren't hellish enough, he was slightly slumped over, and his eyes were glazed; there was blood staining the front of his doublet.

"No!" Emma was relieved to see her son's eyes focus at the sound of her voice, but the change was only temporary. He was slipping into unconsciousness. There was _so_ much blood.

"Don't worry, dear," Regina said coolly. "I'll take good care of my great-grandson. Even if I were capable of harming him, you know I never would."

"Let him go! Your quarrel is with my mother!"

"She destroyed my happiness! Her actions took away someone I loved. And so I shall take away someone _she_ loves."

"You can't run from me." Her body felt numb, and her chest felt hollow. "I will find you."

"Best of luck, dear." Regina's tone made it clear she was unconvinced. And with a swirl of purple magic, she was gone.

And Henry was gone with her.

Emma's father found her hours later, sitting quietly among the bodies of her fallen guards, as he was making his own way to Rumplestiltskin's manor. Within another couple of hours, she was safely installed back in her home, bathed and with her wounds treated, wearing soft, comfortable clothing untarnished by the scars and stains of battle. Her father informed her that her mother and Leopold were on their way, and that they would figure out the next step as a family.

But of course, things only grew worse from there. The messenger that they had sent to Rumplestiltskin, to inform him of Henry's kidnapping, returned with the alarming news that the Dark One was missing, and that there were signs of a struggle. There was no question in Emma's mind as to what had happened: Regina couldn't have possibly crossed the Dark One's threshold … but Henry could. It seemed likely that grandfather, like grandson, was now held prisoner by the Evil Queen; at the very least, Rumplestiltskin would be unable to aid them.

Over the next several days, Emma's mind felt foggy as she sat in long meetings with her parents, her brother, and all their advisors and undercover operatives. Nothing they spoke of made sense to her: _of course_ they couldn't figure out where Regina had gone, _of course_ it was all but certain that she had the Dark One under her power now, _of course_ there was no way to tell if Henry was still alive.

She knew he was. Obviously, Regina could easily have one of her guards dispatch him, but she knew that hadn't happened. It wasn't simply that she couldn't bear the thought of Henry's death. She was sure that, if her son were truly lost to this world, she would feel it in her very bones.

She also knew that these methods that both her parents were suggesting, which had failed to find Regina so far, would fail again. And new methods—dangerous, wildly inappropriate, and above all impractical—were quickly coming to mind.

Eventually, Leopold and David departed to speak with the agents they had sent earlier to dig for information, and Snow White stayed behind to urge Emma to eat. At least, Emma assumed that her mother had remained with her for that particular reason. But as soon as a tray arrived carrying soup, bread, and tea—all of which a grieving mother might be expected to keep down, all of which she was thoroughly sick of at this point—Snow dismissed the servants from the room and locked the door.

"I know that expression, Emma," she said softly before sitting down beside her.

"What expression?" Emma replied dourly. She felt nausea building up; she hated to disagree with her mother, and she was sure she was about to. "The expression of a devastated parent?"

"The expression of a determined one," Snow corrected gently. "You're thinking of going after him alone, aren't you?"

She felt immediately defensive. "We haven't been able to find Regina so far," she reminded her mother. "There's no reason to believe we'll find her if we keep sending out spies and other agents, and clearly our allies have no clue where she's gone. If I'm alone—if I travel covertly—I may be able to track her without raising her suspicions."

"Do you think I'm going to try to dissuade you?" Snow asked. "Emma, it's not simply that I cannot stop you, though it's true that I cannot. But even if I were capable of preventing you from leaving, I do think that perhaps your instincts are right. Besides," she said, shrugging, "I cannot imagine what you're going through right now, but I _can_ imagine that sitting around and waiting to see if we find Regina might not be the best use of your time. Sitting and waiting has never been your nature anyway."

"Thank you for understanding." She could feel the knots in her stomach lessen; at least her mother was on her side. She took a tentative sip of broth. "I think there might be something at my father-in-law's estate that may be helpful. He has all sorts of magical artifacts."

"That's a little more stressful to me than the idea of you chasing after Regina alone," Snow admitted. "So many of that man's possessions are deadly. Are you sure that's the right place to start?"

Emma shrugged. "It's been impossible to find Regina through non-magical means. And my father-in-law has ensured that his estate is safe, at least for us. After all, it was easier to make everything safe than it was to keep Henry from running around and touching everything …"

The memory seemed to break some sort of dam within her, and tears that she thought had dried up came pouring out. Her mother's arms wrapped around her, and she felt like she was eight years old again, sobbing after waking up from a nightmare.

Once her tears finally subsided, her mother called in two of Emma's most trusted servants. After swearing both of them to secrecy, Snow White set them about their tasks. One of them got to work, collecting and packing the necessities for Emma's journey: two sets of traveling clothes, her newly cleaned sword and her dagger, a cloak, a waterskin, dried provisions, a compass, some bandages and medicinal herbs, a small bedroll and blanket, sleepwear, and enough money and jewels to bribe even the most avaricious mercenary, ship's captain, or innkeeper several times over.

The other servant brought shears and dye made from black walnut to take care of Emma's hair. While she was not the only woman in the realm with long, golden locks, it was a well-known feature of hers. She was reasonably sure that if someone met a woman in her thirties with flowing blonde tresses who _happened_ to be looking for her missing son, that someone would immediately identify her as the princess. By the end of the night, her famed golden mane, which had reached below her hips, had been replaced with chestnut hair that fell only a few inches past her shoulders.

"If something happens to me, I will send you a message," she told her mother as she dried her hair. "No news will be good news."

"How will you get a message out if something goes wrong?" her mother asked skeptically.

Emma simply shrugged. "I'll figure it out. But I can't risk giving away where I am. I'm sure Regina would find me immediately if I tried."

Snow sighed, and glanced at the full pack. "Well, if you can find a safe way to get a message to us, even if you're in no danger, please try. But I understand if you can't."

"Thank you." She embraced her mother, and Snow held her tightly. "Will you tell Father? And Leo?"

"Of course." Snow pulled back and smiled sadly. She reached up and stroked Emma's freshly dyed hair. "You just worry about Henry."

Well before dawn, while everyone except the night guard slept, Emma carefully snuck out of the manor. Her first destination: her father-in-law's estate.

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 **I hope you enjoy the story so far! I'd love to know what you think. And please remember to check out swankkat's Tumblr (linked in my profile) to see all the amazing artwork!**


	2. Chapter Two

**Thanks for reading so far! Please don't forget to check out swankkat dot tumblr dot com to check out the artwork for this chapter, and to give my friend feedback and support for her amazing art!**

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Emma felt a little guilty as she made her way through the market of the small town that sprawled around her estate. Most of her subjects were accustomed to traveling without a horse or carriage, and here she was, feeling nervous about the prospect of how sore her muscles would be once she arrived at her destination. Granted, she was also on edge, worried about people recognizing her or questioning her motives; she had barely slept at all in days; and it took a significant amount of energy to lock away what she was feeling regarding her son. A horse or a carriage would have been well-deserved as far as she was concerned.

She was less anxious about overnight accommodations. Although she was used to traveling with a retinue and guards, she had stayed in plenty of inns all over the kingdom and knew some of the ones that were safer than others. Typically, the trek to her father-in-law's home took only a day when she traveled by carriage, and so she was unused to staying the night between those locations. But when dusk fell and she found herself in a bustling village, she had no trouble finding a clean, reasonably priced inn to stay at.

As a child—in fact, until she was married to Baelfire—her father had taken her on short excursions where he had taught her how to hunt some game and fish, and her mother had often gone to the woods with her to teach her how to track, to navigate within the forest, and to set up shelter. These were some of the benefits that came with having royal parents who had spent significant portions of their lives in a decidedly un-royal fashion; while she had never needed to take advantage of that knowledge until now, she had always been grateful to have it. And so on the second night on the road, when she had not approached a village or farmhouse by sunset, she veered a ways off the road, set up a fire and built a small shelter, and spent the night on her bedroll quite comfortably.

She was glad that she'd made the decision to go after Henry, and that she'd chosen to do so on her own. She'd been concerned that being alone with her thoughts might bring her nothing but despair, but instead, she found that the journey was giving her clarity. Even though she had no idea what she was doing, besides traveling to her father-in-law's house, her quest gave her a sense of purpose, which in turn quelled her panic. And while there was no one with her to further distract her from the intense sadness she carried in her heart, she was glad that she didn't have to put on a brave face in front of any guards, or manage any of her friends or family members. She was relieved that her mother had been so understanding, and that Snow had taken on the task of breaking the news to her father and brother.

The third day, she arrived at the manor, but as soon as she spotted it off of the main track, she slipped into the woods surrounding it. If there were thieves around and the magical defenses had fallen, she hardly wanted to be followed. Who knew what some of these miscreants or opportunists would do once they had access to the Dark One's possessions? She quietly pushed her way through the thick brush to one of the side entrances she knew was particularly well hidden.

She might as well have gone for the main entrance: as soon as she unlatched the door, a hand gripped her arm painfully and a knife dug into her back. She mentally cursed herself; how had she not heard anyone following her? "All right, lass. Just open the door slowly. I won't hurt you."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You have a blade on me," she pointed out. "If you're not going to hurt me, I suggest you put it away."

"I—well, I suppose I _might_ hurt you," the person admitted, though he seemed unsure of himself. "I would prefer not to. Would you please just open the door?"

"No," she said. "Not until you explain why you're threatening me with a knife." She needed to get inside to find something that would let her help Henry, but she couldn't risk letting anyone else inside. It was bad enough having Regina enacting yet another plan to ruin the kingdom; the last thing she needed was a powerful artifact in the hands of the highest bidder, or an ambitious fool.

"I need something … magical," the person said after a moment. The knife remained in place, but he'd retracted it a finger's breadth. "Someone I care about is in trouble."

"Go find an apothecary or a woodwitch," Emma replied curtly. She did not have time for someone imprudent enough to resort to drastic measures for mundane medicinal needs.

"Do you think me a fool?" She'd angered him; the blade returned to its original position, and the fingers around her arm tightened.

"How are you _not_ a fool then?"

"It's a _curse,"_ he said, practically growling. "I'm no simpleton, lass. A _woodwitch_ isn't going to solve my problem."

She took the opportunity to whirl around; her captor was unprepared for the sudden movement, and in his surprise, he didn't bother to brandish his weapon any further. Instead, he held his hands up.

He was a man, perhaps her age—though it was hard to tell—with dark hair, dressed in clothing that was well cared for, though not fine. She could tell from his expression that he was assessing her just as carefully; perhaps, more accurately, he was _reassessing,_ now that she'd surprised him.

She could also see the genuine desperation in his eyes. Whatever was happening, he really _did_ need to break a curse. He was telling the truth.

For as long as she could remember, she had a knack for knowing when someone was being truthful. It was a nearly supernatural power, though of course she had no true magic; while she was occasionally wrong, her record was quite excellent. It had made her an exceptional peacekeeper; she had been settling disputes between subjects long before she had married Baelfire and become the mistress of her own vassals. As a mother, it had always been a double-edged sword; while she never had to worry about her son getting away with falsehoods, it sometimes meant that Henry would avoid her when he couldn't bear to face her.

But she couldn't think about Henry right now, not in front of this stranger.

"I will let you in," she said carefully. "But you cannot take anything from here without my permission." That ought to take care of any rampant misuse of magic. After a pause, she added, "And that you will help me locate an artifact that _I_ seek."

She didn't hear the irritated sigh, but she could see it as the man's chest deflated a bit, and he rolled his eyes impatiently. "Is that all?" He brandished his knife again. "You seem to forget who's wielding the weapon here."

She was tempted to draw her sword, but with as little sleep as she'd gotten over the past week, she wasn't confident in her agility or speed. Instead, she replied, "And you seem to forget that I could choose not to let you in."

"Again, I have a knife," he warned.

" _Again,_ I don't have to let you in." Her words were edged with irritation.

His brow furrowed and his lips pressed together in frustration before—"I accept your terms. Now, if you please." He gestured at the door using his knife before sheathing it by his waist.

She nodded once, turned around, and grasped the latch. After she pushed the door open, she stood in the frame, with one foot inside the building and one foot firmly on the soil outside. "If you want to come in, you'll have to do it now," she warned, and the stranger stepped in without argument.

Emma had explored the manor quite thoroughly, first as a child herself, as her parents met with the Dark One to discuss Regina, then as Baelfire's wife, as she visited as a daughter-in-law, and then as a mother, chasing her son through the various corridors and up and down flights of stairs. Rumplestiltskin had eventually cast a clever little spell, one that allowed Emma, Henry, and (before his death) Bae to wander the estate house without getting lost. Frequently, Emma would find herself in an unfamiliar hallway, only to turn a corner and find her bedchambers or the library, or some other room she'd been seeking.

The spell was still intact, and soon she found herself in her father-in-law's study—if the room could be called such—with the stranger hot on her heels. She knew she'd never be able to find Rumplestiltskin's most powerful magical artifacts; she understood that those were hidden in a room only accessible to Rumplestiltskin himself through blood magic. Perhaps if Bae were alive, or Henry were with her, they could find and open the room, but … but Bae was gone and Henry—

—she wasn't going to think about that right now. Besides, she was sure that she would be able to find something helpful without resorting to the dangerous dark magics she knew were in that sealed vault; she knew better than to risk taking anything powerful or let the stranger leave with anything harmful.

"So what are you looking for?" The man interrupted her thoughts, and she looked at him blankly. "You said you needed help finding an artifact," he reminded her.

"I need something that will help me find someone," she said vaguely.

"Long-lost lover?" the man joked, which earned him a glare. "Very well. And if you spot something that might dispel a curse, please don't hesitate to point me in the right direction."

"Perhaps you could tell me the nature of this curse."

"It's … some sort of life-draining curse," the man replied, his voice bitter. "He grows weaker by the hour. I fear if I don't find something to halt the process by this evening, it might be too late."

That certainly sounded like one of _Regina's_ spells, even without the man saying so explicitly; maybe she would help this man find something after all. Sure enough, a magic wand was resting on one of the low wooden tables towards the back of the room. It had a smooth handle made of blond wood, and the core of the wand was white; when she lifted it up gently, it felt light and warm in her hand. It certainly didn't look as though it were an instrument of dark magic.

"Have you found something?" The man was suddenly next to her, pulling the wand from her hand to examine it. She should have known better than to expect that a bandit would have manners.

"You should be careful with that," she said as he began to wave the wand around.

"I don't think it works," he replied, frowning. "It's just a stick."

"I think I know what a magic wand looks like. Besides, why would the Dark One have a useless stick that just happens to look like a wand sitting around here?"

"Fair enough." He slid the wand into his belt. "Thank you for your assistance."

He made to leave. "Where are you going?"

The stranger turned back towards her. "I'm dealing with a bit of a time constraint."

"You agreed to help me find what _I_ came for," she reminded him. "I thought even thieves had a code."

This comment appeared to strike a chord with the man; his irritated expression turned to shame. "Very well. I'll continue searching."

She did as well, and managed to find an incredible set of maps, showing realms she had never heard of before—a bit strange, considering her extensive education as the future queen. She was gently shoving them into her pack when the stranger cleared his throat. "Lass, I think I've found something." He held something metallic in his hand: a compass.

"That's nice, but I already have a compass." The one he held was much larger and more ornate than the one she'd brought with her, but it wasn't as though hers was defective.

"This one seems broken," he said, and he demonstrated; indeed, no matter his orientation, the compass needle remained unmoving, as though every direction were north. "Just as the Dark One would not keep an ordinary pointed stick at one of his workspaces, I doubt he would keep a broken compass at another." He held up the compass for her to take.

She did. Like the wand, it felt warm, but then again, it had just been sitting in the stranger's palm for a few minutes. She nestled it into her own palm and began to mill about the room with her eyes on the needle. The needle did not move.

Her fingers closed around it and she sighed with frustration. This was pointless; the man was clearly just trying to give her an item so that he could fulfill his end of their bargain. The device was useless, as was everything else in this damn study. Her mother had been right; she shouldn't have come here. She could see her mother's knowing expression in her mind's eye.

The metal in her hand felt warmer, almost as though it were pulsating very gently; when she uncurled her fingers and looked back down at its face, the needle had moved. It didn't point north; it pointed south, in the direction of her parents' castle.

Her heart began to pound uncomfortably in her chest. _Henry,_ she thought. _Henry._ She thought of his face, and his smile, but then she thought of his dazed expression as the blood spread from his abdomen, and how his eyes had only focused for a moment when she shouted for him. The compass pulsed again and the needle began to twitch—

"Are you all right?" She jerked her head up. The stranger stood before her, looking concerned, though mostly confused.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice cracked a little. "I think I'll take this. Maybe someone can tell me what it is."

"Very well. Glad to have helped." He strode towards the door.

"Wait!" she called after him, and he stopped and turned.

"What _now?"_ he asked. "I really don't have time to dally."

She shook her head. "Obviously. But did it occurred to you that the spells that would have kept you out of this estate might also serve to keep you in?"

He turned dark red and scratched the back of his ear: clearly it had not.

A few minutes later, they stood outside the manor, beside the same door they'd entered through. "Thank you for your help," she said, and she meant it. Perhaps she would have found the compass without him, but maybe she would have missed it.

"And thanks to you for yours," he replied, gesturing at the wand. "Best of luck finding your someone."

"Best of luck lifting that curse," she replied. And before she could ask him his name, he melted into the greenery.

It had been a strange experience.

But now, at least, she could look at the compass again. Keeping Henry firmly in her mind, but focusing only on an image of his happy, healthy face, she held the compass in front of her. She felt that strange pulse again—warmth, certainly, but something else as well—and the needle swung and pointed to the southeast.

She nodded at it, as if the inert object could see her face, and began walking.

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 **I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	3. Chapter Three

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Two days later, Emma arrived at the harbor. The compass was pointing her directly into the water, and that could only mean one thing: she needed to hire a ship. She swallowed thickly.

This presented a challenge that she had not anticipated, and she wished she had Henry with her to laugh at her dilemma (but if Henry were with her, there would _be_ no dilemma). She needed to charter a ship to take her to an unknown destination, and because the destination was unknown, so was her timeframe. Would she need a ship for a week? A month?

With the number of ships that were docked, though, she hoped that at least one of them had a captain who might be up for the challenge. And while she could certainly afford to charter just about any ship in port, she wanted to keep that fact from becoming common knowledge. It would not do well for her to wind up with her throat slit and her body unceremoniously flung into the water after an untrustworthy captain robbed her.

She frowned. How _was_ she to do this? Who would possibly be able to help her?

The compass needle flicked dramatically. She rolled her eyes; of course, she could use the compass. She thought about her needs: a captain who would take her where she needed to go without asking questions, or stealing from her, and the needle swung and held firmly southwest. As she began to walk, she noticed the needle moving ever so slightly; she was close enough to her goal that the compass had to constantly redirect. Soon enough, she found herself in front of a brig.

The ship looked to be in excellent shape, although quite old; _The Lady Swan_ appeared on the side in clear but faded paint. A member of the crew, a portly man who looked to be at least sixty years old, stood by the gangplank, blearily watching the crowds.

"Excuse me," she asked, approaching him and waving to get his attention. "Excuse me, but I was wondering if I would be able to speak to your captain."

"Captain Jones is occupied," the man replied. "He will be available in approximately an hour if you'd like to meet with him, but until then, I cannot permit you on our ship." His words were polite but clearly well-practiced.

"Very well," she said. "I'll return in an hour. Please let Captain Jones know that there is someone who wishes to speak with him." She wasn't sure how soon the captain planned to weigh anchor; if the compass was indeed pointing towards the person who could help her, she wasn't eager to let him sail off without her.

She spent the next hour browsing the marketplace near the pier. She purchased another cloak, one better-suited for the cold, misty conditions on a sailing vessel than the one she currently wore, as well as some dried ginger. It had been years since she'd set foot on a sailing vessel, and she didn't want to take the chance that she might get seasick.

As she wandered about, she listened to as much gossip as she could without openly eavesdropping. Most of the conversations she overheard were regarding which man's wife had been caught in another man's bed, or whether or not Marcus' young lad was a fool for attempting to join the royal guard (from the details given, Emma privately agreed he might be better suited for a different occupation). But eventually, Emma picked up on the gossip she'd been most anxious to hear: what was going on with the royal family.

"I can't believe young Prince Henry's been kidnapped."

"Was it really the Evil Queen? But I'd heard she disappeared."

"Snow White and David have a reward for any information."

"I hear the Dark One's gone as well—can't exactly say I'm sorry to hear it."

"Princess Emma has locked herself in a room and refuses to leave."

There were plenty of rumors that Emma knew to be false—that there had been a hundred demon-soldiers that had attacked that day, that Emma herself had been gravely injured or even killed, or that Henry had run away on his own. But she was relieved that no one seemed to be under the impression that the princess had left to go looking for her son, and no one seemed to give her a second glance. She nearly did a double-take when the woman who sold her ginger asked if she'd heard about what had happened to the princess and her family. The entire time she walked around, though, she was on edge; while she had needed to confirm her journey was still unknown to the population at large, she hadn't needed to hear vivid retellings of her son's kidnapping.

She returned to the pier shortly before the end of the hour to find that the _Lady Swan_ was still moored and the gangplank was still mounted, although the crew member she'd spoken to earlier no longer waited on the dock. She couldn't make him out in particular, but there were at least ten people moving about on deck, and they seemed to be preparing the ship for departure. Unsure of the etiquette of calling upon a captain in such a situation, where she would need to board the vessel to request _permission_ to board the vessel, she took a deep breath and strode up the gangplank. She was never much for etiquette anyway, much to the frustration of several childhood tutors.

The crew member with whom she'd spoken previously was indeed on deck, and he spotted her immediately. He quickly made his way to her, blocking her path. "Madam, I apologize. I spoke with the captain, but he is eager to set out."

"Clearly," she said dryly, irritated with the rudeness of the captain and his crew member. She should have just insisted on meeting with the captain right away. Or perhaps the compass hadn't been accurate—but she had to trust that it was, or she had nothing to go on, and no way to save Henry.

"Smee, if you would _kindly_ get back to work, I'd _really_ prefer to be on our way," a voice called out from a hatch.

"I'm sorry," the man—Smee, apparently—said hurriedly. "But you will have to leave."

"I think your captain might be interested in speaking with me," she said, pulling a coin from a satchel at her waist. She kept the majority of her jewels and coins scattered about her person, just in case of theft, but she had a small amount in the purse for occasions such as this one. She held the coin in front of Smee. "If you could find it in the goodness of your heart to ask him to grant me an audience."

Smee was silent for a moment, and Emma briefly wondered if he were simply above petty bribery. But then he gently pulled the piece of gold from her hand. "One moment, madam." He scuttled over to the hatch from which the voice had come and ducked down below deck. A few minutes later—long minutes, given that she was standing awkwardly on deck while the rest of the crew was preparing for departure—he climbed back out and beckoned her over. "He's agreed to speak with you if you can make it quick," he said.

"Thank you." She shook his hand, pressing another coin into it, before climbing down the hatch herself.

She found herself in a spacious cabin, definitely fit for a ship's captain, with bright light from the midday sun streaming through the windows. Her eyes cast over books, scrolls, maps, and various artifacts before coming to a sudden stop on the man sitting at the table in the center of the room.

She blushed immediately, internally cursing herself as she did so. The man at the desk—Captain Jones, obviously—was _remarkably_ handsome, and he was staring at her with the most intensely blue eyes she'd ever come across in her life.

And not only was he, without _any_ doubt in her mind, the most attractive man she'd ever encountered, he was also old enough to be her father. His face was lined, though not wrinkly by any stretch of the imagination, and his hair and beard, which were once likely black or dark brown, were steel gray.

And it did not help that he was practically gaping at her; he wet his lower lip with his tongue, and she shivered.

"I suppose you are the woman who bribed my boatswain," he finally said.

His words broke the spell, and she hastily cleared her throat. "I have need of a ship," she said. "My circumstances are … unusual, but I am willing to pay handsomely." She'd hardly spoken, and she already felt clumsy.

"Very well," the captain said. As he gestured with his right hand to indicate that she should sit across from him, she noticed that his right hand was his _only_ hand. Perhaps he had served in the royal navy at some point and lost his left hand to injury. But, of course, she knew better than to ask something so personal. Instead, she sat, as she was bade. "I'm all ears, madam," he said.

Emma swallowed, only partially out of nervousness, and began to recite the words she had rehearsed in her head while she'd wandered about the market. "I don't know where my destination is," she explained. "And so I have no idea of how long my journey is. And even then, I have no idea if I would need to remain on your ship for the majority of my voyage. I may simply need passage to the next port, at which point I would take my leave, or I may need to travel by sea for a long period of time.

"I would be more than happy to compensate you and your crew for this service; I am willing to pay whatever you might ask. I do, however, have some requests." She paused, giving him a chance to stop her and send her on her way, but instead, he nodded for her to continue. It was odd behavior for a sea captain who was eager to depart, but she didn't want to question her luck. After all, the compass had _said_ he was the right person to help her.

"First, I will need private quarters, which no one will be permitted to enter without my consent, not even the captain himself. Second, I'll expect that you won't take on any other passengers while I'm traveling with you. And third," she said, eyeing a small mirror in the corner of the room, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but in this kingdom, mirrors are considered terrible luck. I'd feel much more secure if you were to remove all mirrors and other reflective surfaces from the ship." Regina already had every advantage, it seemed; Emma wasn't about to also let her spy on her.

He chuckled at the last stipulation. "Well, as long as you don't mind the equipment being well shined, I'd be happy to honor such a request."

"How much would you charge for such a charter?" she asked.

He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Assuming you'd be ready to leave immediately? Twenty gold pieces, as well as the cost of supplies and repairs when we make port."

Emma had to consciously keep her mouth from dropping open. While twenty gold pieces was not a small amount, it seemed unusually low for such an odd charter, especially given that the duration of the journey would be unknown _and_ that she'd requested he not take on other passengers. If the trip lasted only a few days, the captain would turn a reasonable profit, but what if it took weeks?

But she wasn't about to insist on paying more; instead, she reached into her coin purse and deposited the handful of gold onto the table.

"What is your name, madam?" he asked as he reached for the payment.

"Ruth." Her grandmother's name.

"Ruth," he repeated. "And tell me, Ruth: what is it that you seek on this journey?"

"My son disappeared," she said, which was true enough.

"Perhaps he ran away," the captain suggested. "Who am I to help rescind the boy's freedom?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can assure you that my son would never run away. But by all means, when we find him, you can ask him yourself."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Well then, I suppose I should formally introduce myself." He held out his hand across the table. "Captain Liam Jones. Welcome aboard the _Lady Swan._ "

That was a lie, instinct told her. Well, not entirely a lie, but not entirely true either. But she took his hand and shook it. His hand was pleasantly warm.

"Now, if you'll wait here, I need to arrange to have a cabin prepared for you, and I've got to get down to the curious business of ridding my vessel of mirrors." He winked at her, bowed his head slightly, and climbed back out the hatch.

Alone, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Whoever this Liam Jones was (well, "Liam Jones," as she was sure he had been untruthful about his name), there was a reason he was charging her so little for the charter. For what she was asking—a journey of unknown distance and duration, during which time he could take on no additional business—he should be insisting on a prince's ransom. At the thought of a "prince's ransom," the pounding of her heart filled her ears and she found it difficult to breathe. There had been no ransom for Henry. There would _be_ no ransom for Henry.

By the time the captain returned, she had composed herself. He showed her to her cabin, which was directly next to his, and left her to get settled as the ship departed port. Within the hour, she was on her way out of the kingdom, towards her unknown destination.

The first few days aboard the _Lady Swan_ were a disorienting blend of boredom and discomfort. The first afternoon, she'd shown Captain Jones the compass, although she declined to explain how it worked. He had asked her where she'd obtained it, and she'd answered vaguely, not wishing to blatantly lie. He asked whether or not he could take the compass with him, and she'd hesitantly explained that it would only work if she were the one holding it—after all, it hadn't worked in the hands of the stranger she'd encountered at the estate. As such, he required her presence in the afternoon and evening, when he plotted the ship's course, as well as above deck with him at the helm as he sailed, in case the compass showed an abrupt change in direction.

But standing on deck for hours, constantly adjusting her gaze between watching the crew work, staring at the horizon, and checking the compass needle, was intensely _dull._ She never thought she would long for an endless meeting with political advisors, but at least during those, she had some understanding of the subject matter. And she was of no help with navigation, only able to stare at the maps as the captain checked and double-checked their course.

Meanwhile, she took her meals with Captain Jones in his quarters, as he insisted on treating her as an honored guest. She wouldn't have minded spending her meals with the crew, but given that the majority of them seemed to consider her a temporary oddity, she accepted Captain Jones' invitation relatively quickly. She felt guilty, though; he likely expected sharing meals with her to involve something other than twenty minutes of awkward silence.

The third day of the journey, they briefly made port in a small town that Emma knew to be just outside her own kingdom's borders. She didn't understand how they could be making such swift time; the last time she'd been to this kingdom, years ago, it had taken a week to arrive by sea. But none of the crew members seemed perturbed by their excellent time; she thought better than to question good fortune, and besides, the winds and weather had been favorable.

The trip through the small town, purchasing supplies, was a welcome distraction from the monotony of the journey so far, and it left her feeling a little more hopeful. And so, when they returned to the _Lady Swan_ and weighed anchor, she resolved to make the best of the social situation at hand.

More specifically, that evening, she attempted to make conversation with the captain.

"How long have you been this ship's captain?" she asked, wondering if this was the sort of conversation he was hoping to have with her. Probably not; judging by the glances she'd caught him giving her from time to time, he was likely expecting a little less awkwardness and a little more impropriety. Then again, he probably caught her gawking at him just as much; he was undeniably handsome, and it was as though her eyes were magnetically drawn to him.

"She and I have been together for a long time," he replied. "I can hardly remember a time when I was not her captain."

He was telling the truth, but it felt like a deliberate dodge. "That's a very long time, then," she replied. So much for attempting to enliven their supper; they fell silent once again.

"I inherited her from my brother," he added suddenly. She set down her fork, mildly surprised that the conversation hadn't ended. "He was one hell of a captain."

"Oh?" She asked, thinking of nothing else to say in reply.

"Well, he could be quite a stubborn arse, but he inspired a lot of loyalty in his crew." He smiled, and she could see in his eyes that he himself was one of the crew members he was speaking of.

"You've quite a loyal crew as well. That is, I assume from the little time I've spent here. They seem to think highly of you."

"Something I learned from my brother was to always make sure to listen to your crew. You need to stay intimidating, of course—don't be lax with them, punish mistakes, and so forth—but you must stay fair. Fear is a poor motivator for loyalty."

"I'd assume so," she replied, unable to acknowledge that the same could be said for running an estate or ruling a kingdom. "I'm sure you've lived up to your brother's expectations."

She'd said the wrong thing; his face darkened immediately, and he turned away. "Unfortunately, I'll never know. I inherited the ship on the occasion of his death."

"I'm so sorry," she said immediately. She wished she could go back in time and change the subject. He'd already mentioned that he'd inherited the ship from his brother; she should not have assumed it had been due to promotion or retirement. Especially since _inherited_ carried such an obvious connotation, one she should have picked up on. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's all right. It's been several years." But he was still clearly upset by the turn in the conversation. They both quietly returned to their meal, and at the end of the night, plotted the course for the morning.

But Emma went to bed feeling as though the brief, uncomfortable conversation had been something of a turning point. Perhaps the journey would not be so monotonous after all.

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 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would love to know what you think!**


	4. Chapter Four

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 **Content note: This chapter contains very, very mild sexual content.**

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The next day, Emma felt a little more lighthearted and less despondent as she stood beside Captain Jones, looking out over the rest of the ship. "I apologize again for last night," she said, by way of greeting.

He chuckled. "Lass, it's quite all right. I've had many years to adjust to my brother's passing. The topic was simply unexpected. Please don't feel as if you must tread so carefully around me; if I'm ever uncomfortable answering a question, I simply won't."

"Well, thank you for accepting my apology at least."

"Of course. Did you sleep well? You seem quite cheerful this morning."

"I think I've finally adjusted to the sea." The ship lurched suddenly, proving her a little incorrect. "Or, I should say, _mostly_ adjusted."

"I'd hazard a guess that you're unused to traveling by water?"

"Well, I—it's not as if I have a need to."

"What is it exactly that you do?" he asked.

"I—" But she paused. She did not want to lie, but she felt socially obligated to respond. "I work for the royal family."

"You mean Queen Snow White and King David?" The way he spoke made it clear that he was likely not one of their royal subjects, and was assuming her allegiance based on her point of origin.

"Yes."

"It was terribly kind of them to let you leave to find your son." His tone suggested that he suspected she hadn't been given approval to leave.

"I didn't ask for permission," she replied. "I simply left. What sort of mother would I be if I _didn't_ go after my son?"

Her tone hadn't been flippant, though she hadn't been that offended either. However, her comment had an immediate effect; Captain Jones grew very quiet and stared down at the boards of the deck. "I've upset you," she said.

"Not exactly," he said. "Perhaps not every parent goes after their missing children." From the pain in his voice, she understood: it was personal. Did he fail to go after his own child? Or perhaps his parents hadn't gone after _him?_

"Well, then," she said, matter-of-factly, "I'm afraid I'm not the best company, since I continue to find ways to put my foot in my mouth."

He laughed—it was a real, full-bodied laugh, originating from deep in his chest, and she found that she quite enjoyed the sound. "Lass, you are the most interesting company I've had in years. I've simply grown accustomed to being around my crew, and they choose their words much more carefully." He met her gaze. "And as my guest, you needn't worry about being so cautious."

"I'm not your guest," she reminded him. "I'm paying you."

"All the same, I consider you a guest, and so I'll treat you like one."

They spent the rest of the day chatting on and off. When they were silent, it wasn't the charged, awkward silence they had endured since the trip began, but a more agreeable one, in which each person understood that, for the moment, there was nothing to say, but that there would be soon. And when they did speak, Emma found it easy to avoid the topics she wanted to avoid—her son, her family, her true identity—without refraining from speaking altogether.

She actually found herself tentatively looking forward to their evening meal together, but when she arrived at his cabin and knocked, there was no reply. She stood awkwardly in front of the door for a moment, knocking a second time to no avail. She reached for the door handle before deciding to head back inside her cabin; after all, she had insisted on having her own privacy and did not want to be a hypocrite.

"Sorry, lass." He materialized behind her; she would have like to have categorized her reaction as startled, but the predominant feeling was the twinge of excitement at his sudden close proximity. "Bit of an issue with some of the rigging. Do you mind getting the door for me?"

"Of course," she said. She assumed he'd asked because she was blocking his way, but once they entered the cabin, she realized why. He was clutching a rag that was steadily turning red with blood. "What happened?"

"Long story," he said, using his left arm to push aside the miscellany on the table. "Like I said, problem with some of the rigging. I'm one hell of a captain, but my reaction time isn't what it used to be." He cursed. "Why can't I find a bloody bandage?"

"Hold on," she replied, heading back for the door. She didn't know how long it would take to locate a bandage in his cabin, but she knew exactly where hers were, and her cabin was directly next to his anyway. She returned with a wide bandage from her own pack. "May I?"

"I surrender myself to your ministrations, milady," he replied, adding bitterly: "It's times like these when I quite miss having two hands."

He held out his hand, still gripping the blood-soaked rag, but the leather of his heavy overcoat kept slipping over his wrist and obstructing her access. "Can you take off your coat?" she asked. He complied, shaking it off, and when he held his hand out again, she gently pushed back his shirt sleeve, which was also stained crimson. "Gods, how badly did you cut yourself?" she asked before opening his fingers. The rag fell, and she could see that the injury was superficial, though it was bleeding quite profusely.

"It's not so terrible," he said.

"Just stay still a moment. I'm going to need another rag or towel—do you—"

"Try the top drawer of that chest," he interrupted, gesturing with his left arm. When she touched the drawer handle, the smooth brass felt strangely warm, but before she could pull, he suddenly said, "Wait, no, sorry! Next drawer down." Sure enough, in the next drawer, she found some clean linen towels.

"Try to hold still," she said, "or else your sleeve will keep falling down." She pushed it up again and began wiping away the blood. As she did so, a tattoo on the inside of his forearm caught her eye. It was difficult to make out, with his sleeve slipping down to cover some of it, and the ink had faded considerably with time. But she could still discern a heart with a dagger through it, and a name: _Milah_.

Bae's mother had been named Milah.

It _could_ be just a coincidence, she reminded herself, as she finished cleaning up the captain's arm and hand and began bandaging the wound. Milah wasn't exactly a common name, but it wasn't unique, even centuries after she'd lived and died. And while the captain certainly wasn't young, he'd have to be at least a couple hundred years old to have known Bae's mother.

Although ...

Bae had told her the story: a pirate had kidnapped his mother for the purposes of providing entertainment to his crew, and the villain's actions had resulted in her death. The pirate in question was Captain Hook, the very same evil man whom Bae had met in Neverland. The captain had pretended to offer Bae a place on his ship, but when Baelfire realized the truth of the man's identity—and that Hook had been gaining his trust simply to find a way to kill Rumplestiltskin—Hook had responded by selling Bae to the Lost Boys.

They hadn't encountered each other again after that terrible transaction, but Captain Hook and his crew on the _Jolly Roger_ had remained in Neverland for at least as long as Bae had; he'd seen evidence of their exploits until he'd finally escaped and returned home.

And if Captain Hook had returned to the Enchanted Forest as well, his lifespan would have been extended in the same way Bae's had been. Liam Jones' age could not disqualify him from also being Hook, and his disability raised even more questions. The tattoo was still an oddity, though; why would a man get a tattoo of a woman's name if he'd considered her nothing more than chattel?

"Everything all right, lass?" the captain asked tentatively, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You've gone rather quiet. Would you prefer to dine alone tonight?" She turned to face him; he looked embarrassed and panicked. "I know that so much blood can often be unsettling."

She couldn't suppress a chuckle, and she felt herself relax. "Captain, I'm a woman and a mother. I think I've seen as much blood in my life as you have."

"Well, you seem a little bit unsettled. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she said, which was not a lie, but didn't feel quite true either. If this man was Captain Hook, he was showing absolutely no signs of being the dastardly, villainous pirate who'd destroyed her husband's family. And in the meantime, she had no proof of his identity.

Afterwards, the cabin boy brought in their meal, and she could feel her apprehension slowly subside as they ate and talked. He explained what had happened with the rigging (which she tried to pay attention to, but the details were still too foreign for her to really grasp), and thanked her for her assistance. He talked about some other inconvenient injuries he'd had in the past, although she could tell he deliberately avoided explaining the loss of his hand.

She gamely joined in; because of her parents' insistence that she learn how to hunt and track, and because of her own thirst for adventure as a child, she'd accumulated quite a stunning array of injuries over the years. It wasn't until she married and had Henry that the routine bruises and lacerations, and even occasional broken bones had ceased.

"Back when my brother was captain, we got into a rough battle with a pirate ship," he told her. "The bastards ended up boarding us, although we fought them off. I caught a sword to the face before the afternoon was over." He pointed to a long, thin scar on his right cheek. "I'd like to say it made me look quite dangerous in an appealing way, but at the time, I was quite distraught at what I considered to be the loss of my boyish good looks."

"This one was all my brother's doing," she said, leaning forward and pulling aside her tunic and undershirt to show off a shiny scar below her collarbone. "I haven't let that little brat near me with so much as a butter knife since then—I was so angry at him!" It hadn't helped that the injury had occurred right before her first ball at the age of ten, and a second gown had to be constructed practically overnight to hide the ugly wound.

"Little brat? Did your parents have you so far apart?"

"Well, no, he's only a few years younger than I am, but some things never change."

He was giving her an odd look, and then his eyes flicked back to the scar before his cheeks turned slightly pink in the lamplight. It then occurred to her that she was pulling down quite a bit of her clothing and practically leaning into his face, effectively inviting the man to stare at her bosom. She quickly let go of the fabric and sat back down.

"I—bloody hell, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time." He gestured towards a timepiece near the bed; sure enough, it was quite late, and they'd been talking for hours.

"Oh, that's all right," she said, a little relieved that he wasn't addressing the fact that she'd just pulled her shirt down. "I wouldn't have lost track of time if I weren't enjoying myself. But it is late."

"Why don't you head back to your cabin? The compass hasn't changed direction lately; I can plot tomorrow's course by myself."

She nodded, a little relieved that she could escape the monotony of the chore; it would certainly put her to sleep, given the hour. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning, Captain."

"You know, you're not a member of my crew. You should feel free to address me by name." His expression was unreadable.

"Very well. I'll see you in the morning, Liam," she said. His name felt strange on her tongue, and not simply because she suspected it wasn't his real one.

He smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, Ruth."

It was difficult to sleep, though. Was he really Captain Hook, or was she simply paranoid? She'd grown up believing that the simplest, most logical explanation was probably true, but this situation made it difficult to determine just what that explanation was. Of course, a one-handed ship's captain with a tattoo bearing her deceased mother-in-law's name _did_ weigh heavily in favor of Captains Jones and Hook being one and the same. But he seemed kind and honest, and he certainly wasn't a pirate now.

Then again, Captain Hook had tricked Bae. It had been one of the reasons her husband had felt so betrayed by the captain's true motives; Hook had led him to believe he had a home on the ship, amongst the crew. Bae might have been young, but he was no fool; there was no reason to believe that Captain Hook couldn't fool her, too.

She resolved to discover the truth. What she would do with the truth, of course, she wasn't sure.

She had her chance the following evening. As she and the captain—Liam, she had to remind herself—sat down for their evening meal, his first mate, a man called Starkey, politely interrupted with some matter above deck to attend to. Liam apologized and insisted that she start supper without him, since the task would take more than a moment or two and her food would grow cold. But as soon as the hatch closed behind him, she began looking around his cabin in earnest.

It was essential not to touch anything unless she needed to; while she'd made no explicit promise to respect his privacy, she assumed it went without saying. And the more she touched, the more obvious it would be that she'd been prying.

Unfortunately, the majority of the cabin was incredibly tidy, and most of Captain Jones'—Liam's personal effects seemed to be neatly stowed. What little there was out in plain sight was not particularly interesting, and most of it she was already privy to anyway: maps, charts, and other navigational items. Within a minute, it was clear that she had two options: cease and desist her search, or break the implicit rules.

Her eyes flicked to the drawer she'd almost opened the day before, when Liam had directed her to find some linens to stanch the blood from his wound. When he'd corrected himself and directed her to a different drawer, she'd thought nothing of it, writing it off as an easy mistake. But with her current suspicions, she wondered if he might have been protesting a little too strongly.

The drawer pull felt warm to the touch, just as it had the previous evening, and she took that as a sign that she was on the right track. She pulled it open.

The drawer was almost entirely empty; though it was wide, it only contained a leather brace, which one might fit over the end of a handless arm, and a false hand. There were some folded bed linens, which were strategically placed to help keep the hand and brace from sliding around. Had her instincts been wrong? A brace and a wooden hand seemed appropriate, given his disability.

But as she held the drawer, and as the ship rocked, she could hear and feel something shifting within the wooden frame. Pushing herself up on the tips of her toes, she looked more closely at the inside of the drawer; there was a small hole in the bottom, near the drawer front—a false bottom. She eagerly reached in and pried it up with her thumb.

There were several items packed into the bottom of the drawer, but the most obvious one was the wicked, glinting metal hook. There were also drawings—of a younger-looking Liam, of an unknown woman, and of a boy whom she easily recognized as a young Baelfire; his resemblance to Henry was obvious.

She also found a piece of leather with the name _Jones_ imprinted on one side, and a kingdom's military insignia on the other. Thanks to her childhood history lessons, she recognized the insignia as one belonging to a famously corrupt king. The evil monarch had poured all of his resources into waging war on high neighbors, and when ruthless pirates led by an ex-lieutenant began to target his trade and navy ships, that had been too much. The king had fled and was never heard from again, and his kingdom lay in ruins.

That Captain Jones had clearly been a member of this king's military wouldn't have been so shocking, except that that kingdom had fallen approximately two hundred and fifty years ago.

There was no doubt anymore: Emma had inadvertently hired the infamous villain Captain Hook to help her find her son. The satisfaction that she'd been right was dulled by the mild horror that she'd been _right._

She quickly replaced the bottom of the drawer and shut it, fingers trembling slightly from the seriousness of her discovery. Liam Jones was _Captain Hook_ —he probably wouldn't be terribly happy to find that she'd been rifling through his belongings, especially after how she'd insisted on having her own privacy. Why had she looked in the first place?

She heard approaching footsteps above deck and quickly scurried back to her seat. When Liam opened the hatch and made his way back down into his cabin, she was sitting and eating her supper as though she'd been doing so the entire time. "I'm sorry," she said, mouth slightly full. "My empty stomach overcame my good manners. Is everything all right on deck?"

"Aye," he replied. "And please, I did ask you to begin without me. I hope I didn't leave you waiting too long?"

"Not at all." She smiled, trying not to let on that _she knew_ , and although she was on high alert for the rest of the evening, it appeared as though he was none the wiser.

She struggled to fall asleep that night, burdened with both the guilt of what she'd done, rummaging through his belongings, and the full weight of the proof she'd discovered. He seemed like a nice enough man, and yet she'd still distrusted him enough to violate his privacy. And yet her mistrust clearly hadn't been due to simple paranoia; Liam Jones _was_ Captain Hook. That was the truth of it.

It was hard, though, to imagine the affable, polite man as a fearsome pirate captain with a hook for a hand. She _tried_ to. She'd only ever encountered pirates in the storybooks she'd read as a child, and the ones she'd read to Henry when he was younger, and somehow the flamboyant and flashy coats and hats didn't suit Liam. Instead, her mind's eye saw him in a stolen military jacket, probably that of a captain whose ship he'd boarded, and slouchy leather boots over his breeches.

And the hook. Gods, the _hook._ It was strangely appealing. How could that be? It was a weapon, a tool for a pirate to use to terrorize his enemies. It was not a thing to admire or find fascinating or alluring.

But she could imagine him wearing it, and staring at her intently, as though challenging her. As if to ask her, silently, if she understood what she was getting herself into.

Did she?

In her mind's eye, the hook gleamed. She wondered what it would feel like.

Not to tear through her flesh, obviously. But what would it feel like if he were to use it to move her hair from her face? Or to pull her towards him? Or to slowly loosen the laces of her chemise? Or maybe even to tear the damn thing off entirely?

And she suddenly _could_ feel it. She could feel the cold curve of it against her breasts, and the sharp tip gently moving across her skin. She could feel it pressing into her back as Liam pressed into her, and she couldn't help but moan—"Hook!"

He groaned in response, and she felt encouraged to say it again. _"Hook."_ That was his name. He was _Hook._ And he felt _so_ good, and the _hook_ felt so good. _"Hook."_

" _Emma,"_ he whispered.

She woke up with a strangled gasp. She was alone in her tiny cabin, still clothed but drenched in sweat, and with an excruciating ache between her legs.

At least whatever the tales were about Captain Hook, none of them suggested he would be able to read her mind when he saw her in the morning.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to know what you think!**


	5. Chapter Five

**As usual, head to swankkat's Tumblr to check out the incredible artwork for this chapter!**

* * *

The following day, they navigated through some less than ideal weather. Emma was able to try out her new cloak, which performed as well as could be expected, but still didn't keep her completely dry as she stood in the drizzle. In the meantime, the weather made it impossible for the crew to break for lunch, and so she took the opportunity to briefly get out of the rain and run down to the galley for dried meat and fruit to pass out to everyone. She even occasionally took over at the helm when Liam needed to see to another part of the ship. Having such responsibility was nerve-wracking, especially since the weather was stirring up the water and the waves gave her some trouble, but she was able to manage without any disasters occurring.

By the time supper rolled around, the weather had improved, and the level of activity on deck returned to normal, allowing for a typical evening meal. Emma's legs felt rubbery as she finally slipped into what had become "her" chair across the table from Liam. The look of relief on her face must have been readily apparent. "Life can be quite tiring on board a ship," he said, his tone sympathetic as opposed to patronizing.

"I don't know why I'm so much more tired than usual," she admitted as the cabin boy brought in their plates. "It's not as if I've been sitting down all day before now."

"True," he replied. "Though you weren't exactly standing about doing nothing today. Congratulations on your first day sailing a ship." He raised his wine goblet in a toast. She grinned and lifted hers to tap it.

"It wasn't as terrible as I'd feared," she admitted after sipping her wine.

"Well, as I mentioned, it's not as difficult when you've got such an effective navigational tool. But even so, thank you again for taking on the responsibility. It looks like we'll be able to make port late tomorrow afternoon."

Arriving at a port so late in the day raised a question she hadn't thought to ask when she'd initially booked the charter. "Will we be staying ashore overnight?"

He nodded. "It's a nice little town with a reputable inn. We haven't spent the night ashore in some time, and the crew would appreciate it. I know I certainly would."

She didn't like the feeling of being so vulnerable; what if Regina had agents in town? "Do you typically stay aboard the ship when you make port overnight?"

He shrugged. "The ship's never unmanned, if that's what you mean. While it might sound unsavory, some of the longer serving members of the crew tend to spend the night on land in the company of—well, you know. But I'd say about half of the crew stays on board, either because I've asked them to, they'd prefer not to spend any coin, or both."

"And you?" She wasn't sure if he had willfully misinterpreted her question; she wanted to know what _he_ planned to do.

He squinted at her, though the light in the cabin wasn't dim. "It depends. I'll likely find a room ashore. As I said, it's been some time—perhaps a month—since I've had the opportunity to sleep on dry land."

"I see." His replies weren't entirely helpful to her; it sounded as if he probably expected her to also find a room, and that it might be strange for her to opt instead for her cabin on the ship, especially since he knew that money was no issue for her. But while it might be safer for her to stay on board, she didn't _feel_ safer. It wasn't that she didn't trust the crew; they had been, to a man, incredibly polite and kind. It was something else, something she couldn't quite place.

The following afternoon, they sailed into the harbor of the small port town. As she walked about with Liam, she was surprised to find that she was in the country that was as far south as she'd ever traveled. Again, she had to wonder: how had they already traveled so far in such a short amount of time? It seemed unlikely that the rain would have expedited their journey in any way; if anything, it should have hindered their progress.

After Liam had made his necessary arrangements to restock their supplies and repair some minor damage the ship had sustained in the inclement weather, and she had paid as per their agreement, she returned with him to the ship and settled down in her cabin to clean and oil her sword.

Soon, there was a knock at her door; it was Starkey. "Captain Jones and the majority of the crew will be dining ashore tonight, milady," he said politely. "The captain would like to know if you'd join him for dinner, or if you'd prefer to have the cabin boy bring you your meal in the captain's quarters."

She sheathed her blade and carefully placed her oil-soaked rag atop the narrow built-in chest of drawers. "I take it the crew is leaving now for supper?"

"Aye, milady." Why the crew called her "milady" instead of "madam," vexed her, but she reminded herself that it would take significant wealth to have secured such unusual passage on their ship. At least, she hoped that was why he addressed her so formally. Meanwhile, she had a quick decision to make.

It was certainly safer to stay on the ship, even with the captain and majority of the crew absent; every moment she wasn't hidden aboard was another opportunity for Regina to find her out. Even if the locals didn't guess her identity—and it was unlikely that they would, this far outside of her kingdom—someone might mention that they saw a single woman in the company of an entire ship's crew. Regina was clever enough that if such information got back to her, as innocuous as it might seem to anyone else, she would at least guess at its significance and have it investigated. And of course, this far outside the Enchanted Forest, there would be mirrors everywhere, which would give Regina ample opportunity for to spot her.

And who knew what Liam's reputation was? While Emma herself had never heard of Liam Jones or the _Lady Swan_ , as a princess she really wasn't familiar with any ships or captains outside of the navy. For all she knew, he had an unsavory reputation, perhaps even in this very port.

Come to think of it, she realized, she wasn't even sure what Liam and his crew typically _did_ for a living. What if he were a well-known smuggler, or what if someone else knew his true identity as Captain Hook and wanted revenge for some past misdeed or another? Or worse, she shouldn't even assume he was _done_ with his life as Captain Hook; maybe he operated under an alias so that he could continue his piracy more secretively. That _would_ explain the deception she detected when he initially introduced himself.

"Milady?" Starkey asked. She blinked; she had gotten lost in her thoughts and poor Starkey had just been staring at her, waiting for her to make her decision.

"I'll join the captain," she replied, the words leaving her mouth before she could get her thoughts back on track. The first mate nodded and gestured for her to accompany him.

 _Why_ had she decided to join Liam? True, she had been distracted, but it was because she was entirely lost in her thoughts, all of which revolved around reasons _not_ to join him for dinner. It was a dangerous, foolish decision, and she could think of no way out of it without appearing incredibly rude, capricious, or both.

Liam was waiting for her at the gangplank. "I'm glad you've decided to join me," he said, and she could tell he meant it. "Although I admit, I was surprised."

She frowned. "Why's that?"

He shrugged. "For the first time, joining me for a meal won't be as private as before."

She hadn't thought about _that_ either—it was yet _another_ reason why she should have stayed behind. But now it was certainly too late to turn back.

She was a little comforted to see that most of the patrons in the inn's small tavern were members of the crew; there were only a couple tables of strangers, and they all seemed sufficiently wrapped up in their own lives. Even better, Liam guided her to a table towards the back of the room, one that was small enough that only the two of them could sit at it. With that, and the whole crew surrounding them, Emma felt as though they had some privacy, especially from any potentially eavesdropping locals. She saw no mirrors.

Their isolation, even if it was incomplete, let her relax enough to enjoy the food and conversation without her nerves feeling stuck on the highest alert. And she was glad; while she had nothing to complain about with regards to the food on the _Lady Swan_ , it was very nice to eat a meal that didn't consist primarily of fish or provisions that could last a long time at sea. The beef stew was especially delicious.

As the evening wound down, and the crew slowly disappeared upstairs, Emma drained the rest of the water from her goblet. "I think I'm ready to get some rest," she said. "Is anyone who's still here going back to the ship for the night?" She was reasonably sure that there might be a room available if she asked the innkeeper, just as she was reasonably sure she did not want to journey back to the ship alone. But she knew she'd feel safer on board rather than on land. There was sure to be a mirror in whatever room she might rent for the night.

"I'll bring you back," Liam replied, and she detected a little offense in his tone, as though she should have known she could count on him to do her the courtesy. In response to her quizzical look, he said, "I'm heading back anyway."

"But I thought you said you wanted to spend the night ashore." Hadn't he? Or was she remembering their conversation incorrectly?

He scratched the back of his ear briefly before standing and offering to help her out of her chair. "I'd planned to, but I don't quite like the look of this inn," he said. Lie. But she didn't say anything; whatever his reasons for changing his mind, she was glad to have his company. And she would feel safer on the ship, knowing he was aboard.

They were quiet as they walked back to the docks, and didn't speak until they'd reached the doors to their respective cabins. "Thank you for walking me back," she said quietly.

"Of course," he replied gently. "Sleep well. We'll set out late tomorrow morning."

"Good night."

As she undressed and crawled into her tiny bed, though, she felt as if her mind were on fire. She knew—she could just _tell_ —that he had opted to spend the night on the ship with her to keep her safe. Safe from _what_ , she wasn't sure.

But it didn't make any sense. He was Captain Hook—she was sure of it. The man who'd killed her mother-in-law, who'd sold her husband to the Lost Boys, who had sworn to destroy her father-in-law. The man whose reputation, both before and after his journey to Neverland, had been villainous and dishonorable.

He was taking her to her destination (wherever the compass was pointing them), and he was trying to protect her.

And she had no idea why that realization filled her with warmth instead of fear.

The next day, life returned to normal, or whatever amounted to normal on her journey. Liam asked her to navigate again while he attended to other matters on deck, and due to the late start they'd gotten in the morning, lunch again consisted of Emma handing out food from the galley. But the crew was in high spirits; sleeping late in the comfort of a nice warm bed on land meant that losing a lunch break was a small price to pay.

She was glad when it was finally time for supper, and she relished the opportunity to stretch out as best she could on her bed while the meal was being prepared. It was nice to be helping on the ship, rather than standing awkwardly next to Liam all day, but it also meant that her body was wearier than normal. She hadn't been inactive in her role as princess, but this was certainly a new kind of life. She stretched again and decided she preferred it.

"I'm guessing you miss beef stew already," Liam said as he welcomed her into his cabin. The cabin boy had already brought in the meal: some fresh fish fillets, roasted vegetables, and potatoes. It was a variation on the same meal they typically had, since fish was easy to procure and potatoes lasted long enough on board. The vegetables were a treat, though, since they had just made port. But either way, she was not yet sick of fish. She simply smiled and shrugged as they began their meal.

"Smee—my boatswain, the man you bribed last week—suggested that you might learn a little more about sailing," he said after a few minutes.

Emma set down her fork. "I'm sorry?"

"He said you seemed very comfortable at the helm." His brow furrowed. "I didn't mean to suggest that you needed to earn your keep, lass. Just that perhaps you'd like something more to do to keep yourself occupied."

"I assumed that navigation was really all I could do," she pointed out. "After all, the compass—"

"True," he interrupted. "That's true. I'm sorry, I'd forgotten."

She frowned and took another bite of her supper. It was true that she had been getting bored, just standing next to him all day; actually being at the helm and having a responsibility on board had been a nice change. And the suggestion had been well-meaning, or at least Liam was presenting it in such a way, although Mister Smee did not seem like the type to suggest to his captain that their paying guest was a freeloader. Then again, perhaps _Mister Smee_ had not made the suggestion at all.

"Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible idea," she said. "So long as I can check the compass every so often to ensure that we were still on course."

"Really?" His expression was eager; she had clearly surprised and pleased him by accepting the offer. There was something else behind the expression, but it wasn't clear. Hope?

"Really," she said emphatically. "I'd be glad to learn something new."

"Wonderful," he said. "I think that as a guest of honor, you should have the captain himself teach you."

She hoped the captain himself was unable to detect the strange thrill that ran all the way down her spine. What was _wrong_ with her? "That's quite an honor," she replied as evenly as possible.

"Well, I'd like to think I'm the best man for the job," he said, his eyes sparkling a bit more than usual. Gods, why was she even noticing his eyes? "Even if it's been a long while since I taught anyone."

She chuckled. "'A long while?' That's vague."

He smiled and then looked up at the ceiling, as if mentally counting. "Let's see, it's been …." He trailed off and then his expression turned somber. "Well, it's been a while," he said after a long moment. "Anyway, I'd be glad to teach you the ropes, literally and figuratively."

He didn't sound glad. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just been a long time. I hadn't realized how long."

That wasn't true. She wondered … "Your brother?"

He shook his head. "No." She cursed herself mentally; his brother had been _his_ captain, so it would have been nonsensical for Liam to have taught his brother how to sail.

"I shouldn't have said anything. I know how much it pains you to speak of your brother; it was inappropriate of me to bring him up."

"It's been a long time since I could talk to anyone about him," he replied, before taking a sip of wine. "A handful of my crew served under him before his death, but they don't like to talk about what happened. The rest are curious, but it wouldn't do well to let them see such a soft side of the captain, if you understand."

She did understand, because she could commiserate. The crown princess of the realm could not gripe and grouse to her advisors or servants about her younger brother. If she did, rumors would spread through the estate—and probably the whole kingdom—like a fire would through a dry forest. No one could know that Princess Emma was ever distracted by such a generic case of sibling rivalry.

She thought about telling him, reassuring him that she empathized with his particular situation. But of course, she could not. Instead, she said, "I've taught my younger brother a lot of things. I wish I knew if he really appreciates it or not."

Liam's eyes flicked towards her. "You're not sure?"

She shrugged, and appreciated that (unlike her parents) he didn't automatically default to, "Oh, I'm _sure_ he appreciates it!"

"It's hard to tell with him," she elaborated. "He gets it from my mother; he can be very difficult to read. He's quick to credit me if I've taught him something or aided him, but from what I understand, only when I'm around to hear such credit. But when I try to help him, he just seems to want it to be over with, and he doesn't typically seek me out."

"See, it was so different with my brother," Liam said. But he said it comfortably; he _wanted_ to tell her what it was like. "I was several years his junior—which he never hesitated to rub in my face, mind you—and I really would have followed him anywhere. He was the bravest, most honorable man I knew, and I just _so badly_ wanted to be exactly like him." He smiled. "Now that I'm a lot older and a little wiser, I can see how perhaps I didn't want to emulate him exactly."

"He must have at least appreciated that you looked up to him," she reassured him. "I know that's how I'd feel as the older sibling."

He shook his head. "Honestly, I wish I'd challenged him a little more, or at least recognized that he was a just another man, just as fallible as I am. But I was in awe of him, and he grew accustomed to that. It wasn't until I'd joined him in the navy and risen up in the ranks that I ever voiced disagreement with him, and I don't think he liked that much."

Emma sensed no deception, which made the conversation all the more fascinating. Captain Hook, a military man! Bae hadn't ever mentioned that, nor had any other tale she'd ever heard of the infamous pirate. But it shouldn't have come as any surprise to her. Pirates got their start on the seas in some way or another, after all. Some of them started off in the military, others on merchant ships—she'd heard very little of any of them being born into piracy. They didn't spring, fully-formed, out of the ocean; Captain Hook had been someone else before he'd been Captain Hook, and there was no reason she should have been surprised that he had been in the navy. She felt a little foolish for being caught off guard by the revelation.

What also surprised her was the amount of guilt with which he spoke about disagreeing with his brother. "It doesn't really matter if he liked your dissent," she said. "That's part of being a ship's captain, yes? Listening to your crew?"

His expression was unreadable again. "Aye," he replied. "I suppose. That's quite the insight, lass."

She shrugged. "It seems rather obvious. What's the point of having officers below you if you're not going to listen to anything they say? I mean, this isn't even a military vessel, and I know that you still value the input of your crew members."

"That's true. Highly empathetic coming from someone whose younger sibling doesn't seem to give her any sort of authority."

She chuckled. "It's not as though I'm his captain. Just a run-of-the-mill older sister."

"I'm sure he looked up to you at some point."

"Not really," she acknowledged. "To be honest, sometimes, it felt like we were each only children, and we just happened to have the same parents."

"What do you mean?"  
"I … it's not that my parents were _bad_ parents," she stressed defensively. "When I was born, circumstances were rather dire for my family. I can't help but think I always remind them of a time when they weren't sure what would become of us. Meanwhile, by the time they had my brother, everything was fine."

It felt strange to talk about the dark curse in such terms, but she wanted to be able to _finally_ talk to someone about how it felt, growing up under the curse's shadow, while Leopold enjoyed a life free of destiny. It hadn't mattered that at the last minute, Rumplestiltskin had prevented the curse from being cast, and that she hadn't had to be the Savior he'd predicted she would be. She still bore the weight of responsibility that came with a role she'd never had to play, and Leo hadn't.

"Even with such a small age difference, they treated you both so differently?"

She laughed sadly. It did seem absurd, but she knew that Leopold was also aware of how differently their parents treated them. It was subtle and it didn't always bother Emma; she sometimes enjoyed that she held so much more power than Leo did. But the little things sometimes got to her: her parents typically asked Leo for his opinion first; he frequently skipped formal events that weren't of the utmost importance; and if he begged off of a particular responsibility, it would fall to Emma regardless of her protestations, while the opposite never happened.

But there was one thing that, above all, had irritated Emma for years and never grew less upsetting. "My parents, who promised that both of us could marry for love, asked me to consider an arranged marriage to benefit our family. They've never asked the same of my brother."

Liam was silent for a long moment, before asking, "They forced you into an arranged marriage?"

She shook her head. "They didn't force me. But I still sometimes can't believe that they even raised the issue. They'd gone on for years about how they'd fallen in love, and how my father had been totally against the arranged marriage that would have saved his family's farm. And yet they were asking me to marry to benefit them.

"My husband was a good man, and I've missed him very much since he passed away. And, as you well know, I love my son, dearly. But fifteen years later, I'm still angry that my parents even asked me to consider an arranged marriage. And fifteen years later, my brother has yet to marry anyone."

"Have you suggested any matches to your parents?" He was grinning.

"Of course. Very passive-aggressively." She grinned back.

There was a knock at the cabin door. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

The cabin boy poked his head in. "I don't mean to disturb you, sir, but given the time …"

Emma's eyes found the timepiece by Liam's bed; sure enough, it was extremely late in the evening. Most of the crew would be preparing for sleep, including the cabin boy. "Right you are, Edmund," Liam said quickly. "You may clean up. I'll escort the lady back to her quarters."

She snorted; referring to her as a lady in front of the crew was definitely overly formal. As for escorting her back to her cabin, it was hardly necessary, given that the door to her cabin was barely more than a foot away from the door to his. "It's quite all right," she said. "Besides, don't we need to plan tomorrow's course?"

"I'll take care of it," he replied. "Come."

"There's really no need," she added as he opened the door for her. "Obviously, I'm not going far."

"I insist." Quite the gentleman, but then again, she'd learned tonight that he used to be a naval officer.

Sure enough, as soon as they exited, they were at the door to her cabin. "My apologies for keeping you up till such a late hour."

"Why must you apologize?" she asked. "I believe we were both equally engaged in continuing that conversation."

"Perhaps, but I am the captain. One of my responsibilities is to keep track of time. As my guest, you should have no such responsibility."

"It sounds like I won't exactly be just a guest much longer," she reminded him. But he was momentarily confused. "You wanted to teach me a bit about sailing?" she added. What had he thought she'd meant? That she would be leaving?

"Ah, too right," he said. "But you'll still be a guest, I assure you."

"Well, then." But she wasn't sure what else to say, and simply opened the door to her room. "Thank you for a lovely meal. Good night."

"And thank you for your company. Sleep well."

She found herself grinning as she closed the cabin door, but then shook her head as if to shake out unwanted thoughts. She was _not_ supposed to be confiding in Captain Hook about her insecurities and family issues!

Then again, she reasoned as she undressed to sleep, he'd shown almost no deception the entire time she'd been on his ship, and even then, the deceptions had been small. Either he was such a well-practiced liar that he could fool her into completely misreading him, or he was a changed man.

She curled up under the bedlinens in her tiny bunk. Either way, he should not be making her smile like this. She was the crown princess, widow of a man he'd wronged. She shouldn't laugh at his jokes or feel pleased when he laughed at hers. It made no sense that she would blush when his eyes were on her. She was a beautiful woman, used to men giving her those sorts of looks. She'd grown immune, or at least she _thought_ she had.

She had to keep in mind that by all accounts, Captain Hook was known for being charming and handsome. She likely wasn't the first woman to feel an unwanted attraction to the man, and she wouldn't be the last. She shivered; admitting that it was _attraction_ felt like she'd lost a battle.

Well, this was a bit odd; she found herself in the small dining room in her parents' castle. The room was empty, and breakfast hadn't even been laid out. Where was everyone?

Perhaps her parents had opted for breakfast outside in the courtyard? They loved to do that when the weather was fine; Leo would run around the hedge maze if he finished breakfast quickly enough. She herself was much too old for that now, since her parents were starting to let her listen as they talked about state affairs.

Perhaps Bae would be coming by today with his father; Bae loved sitting outside in the sunlight; he'd told her all about Neverland and how it was always the darkest hour of night, forever. But the courtyard was empty. Strange.

She now found herself weaving through the market outside the palace, which was (to her immense relief) well populated. But she became immediately lost; she was much too small to see over everyone. She clutched her baby blanket tighter. Where were Mama and Papa? She was so very, very lost.

Eventually, she found herself outside of market, standing in the middle of a forest. She was all alone.

"Mama?" she asked tentatively. She felt tears welling up. "Papa?" She was cold and lost. And alone. They'd abandoned her. They'd left her behind or sent her away—she couldn't tell. "Please help!" she cried out. "Someone help me! I'm lost!" A sob tore through her body. Lost. Alone. Unwanted. Abandoned.

"Love, wake up." Her whole body shook violently. "Wake up, love."

She awoke with a gasp, only to find Liam's worried face in front of her, lit softly by a lantern he'd set atop the chest of drawers.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered. "I know how much you value your privacy. But you—I could hear—you were crying. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

She could hardly breathe, and could do nothing except continue to stare at his concerned face.

"Love?" he asked softly. "Please tell me you're all right."

"Sorry," she finally said, her throat finally opening enough to accommodate speech. "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded shakily. Yes, she was fine. It had only been a dream; she knew it wasn't real. "I am. But thank you," she added. "I—I know I asked for privacy, but this—this hardly counts as violating it. I'm grateful to have been—awoken." _Awoken_ felt a little insufficient; _rescued_ would have been more accurate.

"I'm glad I could help," he replied. "If there's nothing more I can do, I shall return to my cabin. I hope you have more pleasant dreams; you're welcome to wake me if you need anything." But he seemed as though he hoped she would ask for something. Truth be told, she wished that he might wrap his arms around her, that he would know she needed to be held without her asking. But he would never do such a thing without her explicit consent, and she was too embarrassed to grant it to him.

So instead, she simply said, "Thank you," again, and he nodded and left.

It took the better part of an hour for her to fall back asleep, but she was relieved to find she had no other dreams.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think! And again, _please_ check out swankkat's artwork; she's worked so hard on it, and it's all top-notch.**


	6. Chapter Six

**Be sure to head to swankkat's Tumblr to check out this chapter's art! It's stunning!**

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Emma wasn't sure who was more shocked by how quickly she picked up sailing: Liam, his crew, or herself.

What was even stranger was that she still wasn't quite sure what she was doing, an assertion she continued to make even as she did things (apparently) correctly and competently. It was as though she were an automaton; she didn't understand or remember all the names of all the parts of the ship or the rigging, but she _did_ seem to know instinctively how to hold the rope, in which direction to pull it, and which knot to use to tie it. She somehow understood how to assist in bringing about the sail without being able to even verbalize what she was doing.

It was unnerving, and she eventually moved back to the helm for the remainder of the afternoon. She could feel herself relaxing as she entered the familiar role; she was glad for the opportunity to check the compass frequently, which she was unable to do while she worked elsewhere on the ship.

"I don't know," she said as soon as she sat down at supper.

"I didn't ask," Liam pointed out.

"I know, but I know you're still curious." He nodded. "I have no idea. I swear, I've never sailed before. I've hardly even been on any ships before now, either—I've not had many opportunities to travel by sea."

He chuckled. "Well, love, I'm hardly complaining. Perhaps we'll try again tomorrow. You must be feeling a little on edge after last night." She sputtered a bit as she took a sip of water. "Or do you not wish to discuss it?"

She finished swallowing, coughed a little and then sighed. "It's not so much as I don't wish to discuss it, as it is that I'm not sure there's much to discuss. I had a nightmare."

"You were calling out for your parents," he said softly. "Saying you were lost."

"I don't know what to tell you," she said defensively. "It was just a nightmare. And to tell you the truth, I'm a little embarrassed at how much it affected me."

He frowned, and she had the distinct feeling that even if he could not truly read her mind, her feelings were plain enough that he didn't need to. "Lass, that was no ordinary nightmare. I didn't exactly burst into your cabin immediately upon hearing you; I knocked quite loudly and you didn't wake. And had that been a typical nightmare, I believe your own cries would have roused you relatively quickly."

"I don't mean to be rude," she said irritably, "but I don't think you know me well enough to be able to discern what constitutes a typical nightmare for me."

"You're not being rude," he replied, "but in this case, it's not a matter of how well I know you personally. If you wish to avoid this topic, then we shall, but I'm only trying to help. I wish that you would let me."

"Oh, and you have a device or spell that can prevent nightmares?" she asked, unable to resist teasing him.

"Perhaps there's something that someone has done for you," he said, not jesting.

She sighed. He was obviously determined to talk seriously about it. "My father used to light a candle," she said quietly. "To catch the nightmares. And then he'd stay with me until I fell asleep." He did the same for Snow—or at least, he used to. But that wasn't something Liam needed to know, especially since the entire rest of the Enchanted Forest was unaware that Snow White and Prince Charming's marriage was no longer the stuff of fairy tales.

"What did you dream of?"

She took a shaky breath. "I dreamt that I was a young child again, looking for my parents. Eventually, I came to find myself alone in a forest."

"Abandoned," he said gently.

"Yes." She stared at a knot in the wood of the table. "Abandoned."

"I was abandoned," he said, his voice soft and sad. Her head jerked upwards; he looked resigned. "I can assure you that I understand why your nightmare would be so terrifying."

"I'm sorry." He shrugged and shook his head. "I mean that."

"I know. But it's all right. It was a long time ago, and although some scars never fade completely … they do heal."

"I don't even know why I had this nightmare," she admitted. "I _wasn't_ abandoned."

"That doesn't mean you can't fear it." He smiled kindly. "Besides, it wouldn't do to spend too much time analyzing dreams."

"Well, thank you," she said. "For your comfort now and last night."

He reached over and took her hand. "Of course, love. I'm simply relieved you aren't livid that I entered your cabin without consent."

"As I said at the time, I was glad you did. I don't typically believe that rules are meant to be broken, but last night, I—well, again, thank you." She felt herself blush furiously. She'd almost said _I really needed you._

"And as I said at the time, if it ever happens again, and there's anything I can do …" He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish his sentence. She understood, and squeezed his hand back before realizing what she'd done. Her eyes flicked to his face to see if he'd registered the action; the way he met her gaze made it clear that he had. But he looked neither smug nor startled.

She vaguely recalled that she had spent a lot of time the evening before reminding herself that she should not be doing _this_ sort of thing with Captain Hook. But the way he was looking at her, and the heat she felt as he continued to hold her hand in his, left no doubt in her mind that unless she revealed her identity to him, nothing would stop _him_ from doing this sort of thing with _her._

She wasn't sure how to feel about that. But then Edmund arrived to clear their supper, and the evening was over.

The following day, Emma was in better spirits. The nightmares had stayed away and she'd managed to sleep quite restfully, and while neither she nor Liam brought up how their supper had ended, she knew he was thinking about it—she still was as well.

It was truly a curious thing. Logically, she knew that she should be put off by the idea of engaging in a dalliance with Captain Hook. If she were being honest with herself, she knew she should be put off by the idea of engaging in a dalliance with him even if she _hadn't_ known his identity. It wasn't his apparent age; having spent time in his presence, she knew that she had no qualms with him being near sixty. And his real age didn't bother her either, given her marriage to Bae, who had also been centuries old thanks to years spent in Neverland.

She felt guilty, though: she _should_ be focused on Henry, not on the potential for romance. It did have the benefit of offering her a distraction; it prevented her from becoming withdrawn or agitated. But for every moment she managed to forget what she was doing on the _Lady Swan_ in the first place, she spent at least as long feeling guilty later on.

But her reluctance was also due to responsibility: as the crown princess, she couldn't fall into bed with anyone on a whim. She knew that it would be acceptable to her parents—and her subjects—if she were to remarry, and she knew that her parents would probably be thrilled if she were to marry for love the second time around, absolving them of the guilt she assumed (and, a bit spitefully, hoped) they felt regarding the nature of her first marriage.

But she wasn't thinking about marrying the man—it wasn't simply _romance_ on her mind. There was heat and excitement, and she was no longer a blushing virgin who longed for poetry and sweet kisses while resolving herself to withstand what would be done to her body later. No, she was older and wiser and experienced, and the thoughts in her head involved a lot more than poetry and sweet kisses from those lips.

And certainly, she _couldn't_ go to bed with him if he weren't her husband. If only she were just a normal person (and if only he weren't _Captain Hook_ , of course)! But she was the crown princess of the Enchanted Forest: any child born of her body would be in line for the throne. Even with Henry first in line, it wouldn't do to have a bastard child second.

But the connection she felt was inexplicable but tangible. The question was simple: would she do anything about it?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed the unnatural darkening of the skies until Liam hurried to the helm.

"Sudden storm coming," he said. "You should get below deck."

"What?" She turned around to see the oncoming clouds. How had this happened so quickly? The weather had been lovely all day.

"I've no idea where it came from," he said, as though the storm were his fault. "No signs whatsoever, and we're sorely unprepared for it."

"What can I do?"

"Get below deck," he repeated.

"But I was above deck during the last storm." Her voice sounded petulant in her ears, and her face grew hot.

"Love, in the few moments we've spent discussing the situation, it's already gotten worse." He was right; it was now nearly dark as dusk, and the ship was beginning to pitch noticeably.

"So tell me how I can help."

"Please, Ruth." She stiffened at the use of her alias; it was rare that he addressed her by name, and she didn't really like when he did. "I can't be worrying about you."

"I can't be worrying about _you."_

He seemed startled by the admission, his eyes widening slightly and his body freezing momentarily. Finally, he spoke. "Your cloak is below deck. You would be better protected from the weather if you were to go and fetch it."

She nodded, pleased that he'd relented. "Very well. I'll be back shortly."

As she made her way below, she briefly considered what had just happened. It wasn't shocking that he was obviously feeling something more than platonic for her; that had been evident the previous evening, and if she was being honest, there were signs earlier as well.

But how could she be worried about the safety of the man who broke up her father-in-law's marriage? Why should she care what happened to the villain who sold her husband to a dangerous enemy?

It was simple: she shouldn't, and yet she did.

And it was beyond caring about his safety so that he could help her rescue Henry. She cared about Liam's safety for its own sake. This was beyond simple attraction now, and clearly beyond her control.

But now was not the time to panic over it—there was a storm to think about. She grabbed her cloak from its drawer in her tiny cabin and worked to fasten it as she made her way back to the nearest hatch.

The hatch wouldn't open. In the short time that she'd been below deck, it had been secured. Her heart raced as she rushed to the other end of the ship to another exit, and she felt her anger building as she found that each and every hatch and door to the deck was firmly shut.

Privacy be damned, she strode into Liam's cabin, thinking that surely he wouldn't expect her to to enter without permission. But the hatch from his cabin to the deck was also sealed tight. The bastard had sent her below on a fool's errand and made it impossible for her to return.

Her anger mirrored the swirling storm outside; it was nearly pitch black within the cabin now, and she could hardly hear anything above the roar of the wind. The window panes were pelted with angry rain, and it was impossible to tell whether she was hearing the pounding of boots or the pounding of the storm on the wood above her.

She'd never seen a storm this terrible. Someone _would_ go overboard. And it couldn't be him.

Because without him, she'd never find Henry.

Because without him, she'd—

She had to get the damn hatch open.

There wasn't anything obvious in the cabin to use to pry it open, and she couldn't risk damaging her sword or dagger. A quick check of some of the cabinets revealed nothing useful. She found a well-hidden cutlass—probably strategically placed in case of mutiny or pirates—and she attempted to use it to force open the hatch, while mentally rehearsing an offer to replace it if she damaged it. Fortunately, the blade remained unscathed; unfortunately, the hatch remained shut. She tossed the sword aside and shrieked wordlessly in frustration.

He'd tricked her into going below deck. He hadn't even lied to do it; _that_ was how he'd managed it. Her cloak _had_ been below deck, and because he'd sealed her in when she'd gone to fetch it, she was indeed better protected from the weather.

She wanted to kill him for that clever ruse. She wanted to kiss him for it.

The storm raged on, but now she imagined she could hear shouts over it. Had someone gone overboard? Was someone hurt? There was noise everywhere now, and what was wind and rain was indistinguishable from everything else, and she _just needed to get above deck, just needed to open this damn hatch! Open! Damn you, open!_

The only warning she had was a strange, warm pulse, and suddenly the hatch blew open. She initially thought she'd imagined it, except that she was nearly blinded by the amount of water that practically smacked her in the face.

She stumbled up and squinted, grabbing a nearby rail and holding on for dear life. The hatch slammed shut behind her, and she winced, realizing that now the captain's cabin might end up flooding.

The deck was in chaos. It was impossible to see who was who, or even where everyone was. The shouts were incoherent.

They could all die.

Maybe she should have stayed below.

Where was Liam?

" _Ruth!"_

There! He was still at the helm—or perhaps he'd left and returned—hair plastered to his face and slumping under the weight of his leather coat. He was clearly trying to steer, but his grip was slipping.

So was she as she hurried to his side; she had no idea just how slick wet wood could be until now. The dash should have taken mere seconds, but it seemed to take ages for her to finally pull herself up to the helm. She grabbed two of the handles and tried to steady herself. "Which way?" Her words were barely audible.

"Port!" At least he wasn't arguing with her.

She pulled as hard as she could; along with the strength of Liam's right arm, the wheel began to turn, but it wasn't enough, especially since she was struggling to maintain her footing. Thinking quickly, she dropped to the deck, killing two birds with one stone: she no longer had to worry about staying upright, and now the entire weight of her body was pulling at the wheel.

"Brilliant, love!" There were more shouts. "Bloody hell—keep at it! I'll be back!" Without his strength, she could feel the wheel start to turn starboard again, but she looped her legs around the base and held on as tightly as she could. Her arms protested as she continued to try to pull; she still wasn't sure how she'd gotten the hatch open, but she'd clearly expended precious energy trying. But she _had_ to keep trying. She hadn't made her way back above deck only to stand around uselessly. Liam said to keep at it, and so she would.

She felt a strange warmth in her chest, and suddenly, the wheel began to give. She half-gasped in delight, nearly choking on a breath of rain-filled air; she was even able to pull herself into a standing position, looking out over the mess that was the deck of the _Lady Swan_.

One of the masts was about to fall.

One of the masts was about to fall,and _Liam_ was in its path.

"No!"

Her shout was entirely lost in the howling winds. Without thinking—she should have kept both hands on the wheel, pulling it to port with all her strength—she reached out, as though such an action could possibly change fate. _No._ She felt yet another strange pulse.

Liam leapt out of the way, nearly falling face-first several feet away, as the mast cracked and swung downwards to the deck, crushing the bulwark.

She missed the aftermath; all of a sudden, that strange warmth disappeared, and whatever muscles had awakened to help her turn the wheel seemed to fail. She unceremoniously crumpled to the deck as the wheel began to spin back in the starboard direction. Once again, she coiled her legs around the base, and when the handles slipped from her fingers, she grasped the next ones and continued to pull, as though her life depended on it. It probably did.

She shut her eyes and prayed. Time lost all meaning.

Slowly, the pull against her hands lessened, and she could relax her legs slightly without being dragged. Soon, there was red light through her eyelids, and shouts and commands were becoming audible. Her body was numb, but the sensation of wind and rain beating against her was fading.

"All right, love?" She opened her eyes to find Liam standing over her; if he was cross regarding her escape from below deck, it didn't show.

"Are you?" Her throat was raw, as though she'd been screaming, even though she'd only shouted a few times. He nodded. "And the crew?"

"Aye, all whole and accounted for." He reached out his hand to take hers and pull her up. She swayed on unsteady legs. "Will you return below deck?"

She began to protest—hadn't he seen how much he needed her help just now? But he lifted his hand to gently cup her face. "Please," he whispered. "You can wait in my cabin if you'd like." His eyes shone with … _something._

She could do nothing except nod. Besides, what did she know about setting a storm-battered ship to rights? He nodded in return and guided her back to the hatch she'd burst out of what seemed like hours earlier. He seemed a little confused as he lifted it up, and he opened his mouth as though to ask a question before shaking his head and gesturing for her to step down into his cabin.

It was a mess, probably only partially due to the rocking of the ship, and mostly due to the miraculous opening of the hatch mid-storm. And due to that fortuitous event, there was not a single surface in the room that wasn't at least minimally wet. Guiltily, Emma stripped the bedlinens, thinking she'd change them, but the mattress wasn't dry either. She grabbed a linen towel from one of the drawers and began to mop up some of the rainwater before realizing that she should have asked for directions regarding clean up, or that perhaps this piece of linen was actually a dry bed sheet and it was now soaked and dirty. Gods be damned, Liam was going to be angry with her. She folded the soggy sheet as best she could, dropped it on her chair, and escaped to her own cabin. At least it was dry inside, and she could change out of her soaking clothing.

She lay back in her bunk, shivering in her sleepwear. No one had died. No one was severely injured. But for the first time since she'd fought off the black knights—for the first time at all on this journey, it really struck her:

She could _die_ before she reached Henry. Liam almost had.

Thank the gods he'd jumped out of the way in time. She wrapped her blanket tightly around her and felt tears leaking out. He'd almost died. He'd really, truly almost died; the mast would have crushed him, as evidenced by the astonishing damage it had done to the bulwark. She'd been right to worry.

As she drifted off a bit, due to the sheer exhaustion of what she'd endured, there was an insistent knock at the door. "Come in." She coughed; her voice was still raspy.

The door burst open to reveal _Regina._

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 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to know what you think!**


	7. Chapter Seven

**As always, please check out swankkat's Tumblr to see the gorgeous artwork for this chapter, and to leave her feedback!**

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"Do you think you're clever, dear?"

Emma froze. "How did you find me?"

Regina laughed. "Do you _really_ think I had no idea what you were up to? Why, I predicted this foolish course of action before I even put my plan into motion."

"Where's Henry?" There was no way out of the cabin besides the door Regina had entered through; the porthole was too small to accommodate her. She would have to distract the Evil Queen and run.

Regina grinned. "How sweet of you to worry about him. He's perfectly safe. In fact, he's doing quite well. The other day, he even called me _Mother._ "

"You're lying." But she could tell it was the truth. "You bewitched him."

"He's _my_ son now, princess. Soon, I'll be the only mother he knows."

"You can't kill me," Emma reminded her. Where was her dagger? She could have _sworn_ it was tucked between the mattress and the wall, but her fingers found nothing but smooth wood.

"But _I_ can."

Emma's blood ran cold. She knew that voice. _No, no, no, no …_

Cora stepped out from behind Regina.

She smiled.

She plunged her hand into Emma's chest.

And then there was a pulse—

"Love, wake up!"

She was screaming and sobbing as she woke, her own hand pressed against her chest and Liam's arms around her. It took several long minutes before she could breathe freely.

"Same one?" he finally asked.

"No." She pressed herself against him. "No. Different. Worse."

"How can I help?"

"This." It was all she could think to say. It was what she had needed two nights ago and had been too embarrassed to ask for.

A knock at the door terrified her far more than it had any business doing. "I'm sorry, darling," Liam said before removing his arms; she felt freezing cold in their absence. He opened her door only partially to speak with someone—she couldn't see who—before shutting it and returning to her side, once again taking her in his arms.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"What for?"

"Your cabin, I suppose."

She could feel the vibrations as he chuckled, and she shook in relief at the sensation. "If you only knew how many times that room has been thoroughly soaked, you'd think nothing of it. You've been asleep for quite some time, love; I've already cleaned up and had the linens replaced."

"Even so." She felt his hand on her hair.

"Thank you." He nearly whispered it.

"For what?" For breaking the hatch open? For giving him and his exhausted crew more work to do? For wrapping herself around the helm?

"You saved my life, love."

She pulled back and stared at him; his eyes were earnest. "Why would you think I saved your life?"

"The mast." He furrowed his brow. "You saw the damage from it. There would have been no surviving it."

"You jumped out of the way." She'd _seen_ him leap.

"I didn't jump. I was pushed."

"By whom?" There had been no one near him. Why was he questioning her memory like this? She recalled, crystal clear, watching as that mast began to creak and sway, feeling terrified and helpless as she stood too far away to change what was about to happen.

"You," he said simply.

"I was at the helm." What on earth was he talking about?

"How did you get to the helm?" he asked, suddenly challenging her. "How did you get the hatch open?"

"I pushed at it. I tried to pry it open. I must have loosened it."

"You didn't," he insisted. "I saw it happen. Had you been pushing at it, you would have immediately tumbled out. And you didn't."

He was right: she _would_ have come spilling out onto the deck had she been pushing. But what had happened? She'd been terrified and angry, worrying herself into a rage, and she'd just _needed_ the hatch to open.

And she'd felt a strange pulse, and suddenly it had opened.

Liam's arms tightened around her, which was how she noticed she was shaking again. When he'd been in harm's way, the same thing had happened. She'd felt a strange pulse, and suddenly he was safe.

It was the pulse she always felt when she held the compass and thought of Henry.

And the warmth—she'd felt it when she'd gotten control of the helm. It was the same thing she'd felt as she'd held that magic wand, the same one she felt while holding the compass on a regular basis. The same one she'd felt when she'd been drawn to the drawer containing Liam's hook.

"Magic?" She could barely even breathe.

"I thought you knew—you've been using the compass this whole time."

"It's not possible." But she knew it was, and Liam's expression indicated he knew as well. "I _can't."_

"I don't think it's a matter of 'can' or 'can't.' You simply _do."_

"No." She shook her head, as though the action would shake this _magic_ out of her. "Magic _always_ comes with a price. I can't."

"It's more complicated than that."

"It's not." She unclenched her fingers, which had wound themselves up in the front of Liam's shirt. "Please—I just … I need—"

"I understand." He released her, and again, she shivered with cold as he stepped to the door. "It'll be all right, love. I promise you."

She swallowed as he nodded at her and left. She wanted to believe him—that the situation was more complicated than the platitude she'd heard repeated over and over again throughout her entire life. But she'd seen firsthand the corrupting nature of magic.

There was Regina, who'd embraced the dark arts after the death of her lover. She'd begun by trying to right a wrong and bring her fiancé back from death, and now darkness had consumed her until there was nothing left of the kind woman who'd saved Snow White's life.

And before Regina had been Cora; Emma had had the misfortune of meeting the vile sorceress on a couple of occasions before the woman had finally been stopped (whose murder, committed by Snow White without remorse, had fractured her parents' marriage beyond repair). She'd heard stories, firsthand from Rumplestiltskin himself, of how the desire for power, for control over her own destiny and station, had been warped and twisted by magic, leaving behind a woman incapable of loving her own daughter.

And hadn't Rumplestiltskin himself taken on the powers of the Dark One in a desperate attempt to save Baelfire from a brutal death in the Ogres War? Those same dark powers drove Bae away for years. And with Bae now gone, Rumplestilstkin was just a miserable, lonely old man, loved by no one, and despised and feared by the general public.

Magic had corrupted all of them—and it _would_ corrupt her, too. She couldn't even seem to control it; what would happen the next time she was angry or scared?

Or worse, what if she was tempted to _try_ to use it? She had no idea what was in store for her once she reached her ultimate destination; she'd been taking everything one step at a time, and had assumed that she'd figure out her next step once she'd reached Regina's lair. Now, though, she had _magic,_ and her magic seemed determined to get her to Henry. What if she let that magic take over? What if she harnessed it? What if she used it to free Henry, to whisk them back home, to end Regina once and for all?

She groaned in frustration and desperation; it was happening already! She was going to be consumed by this _magic_ and destroy everyone she loved. Magic _always_ came with a price; she couldn't trust Liam's assertion that the situation was too complicated for such a simple truth.

And why should she trust Liam anyway? He was _Captain Hook._ Trusting him was _madness._

… and he'd known, hadn't he? He wasn't _surprised_ by her magic; he'd even admitted he'd known by her handling of the compass. This magic had been in her the entire time, and he'd _known!_ Did he intend to use her for his own ends? Slowly gaining her trust until she was nice and malleable? Perhaps he wastaking her to Regina, and maybe the dream she'd had wasn't coincidental at all. She almost threw herself off of her bunk, such was her haste to get to his door; she _had_ to confront him.

She knocked a few times (perhaps a little too hard, but now was no time to worry about civility) before she finally heard shuffling within Liam's cabin. It took a few moments for him to finally unlatch the door, and she was surprised to find him in such a state of undress, wearing only linen breeches and a billowy black shirt that exposed much more of his chest than she'd ever expected. For a brief moment, she forgot why she'd come in the first place, and instead thought only of reaching out and touching the skin that was showing.

"Darling?" he asked tentatively. "Was it another nightmare?"

"No," she whispered, before remembering why she was angry. "Did you know?"

"Sorry?"

"Did you know?" she asked again, more firmly this time.

He glanced behind her, checking the narrow corridor, before beckoning her to come inside. As he shut the door behind her, she realized that he hadn't been exaggerating earlier; the cabin had mostly recovered from the dousing it had received earlier on. It still felt a little damp, to be sure, but her guilt regarding her actions was a little assauged.

Instead of turning to her to address her question, he went to a drawer and pulled out a blanket. In the lamplight, she could see his cheeks were tinged pink as he handed it to her.

It was then that she realized that, in her rush to confront Liam, she hadn't given any thought to how she was dressed. Or, more specifically, how _little_ she was dressed, wearing only her chemise. Her legs were nearly completely exposed, and in the slight chill of the cabin, her hardened nipples were visible through the thin fabric.

She silently took the offered blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders before returning to the matter at hand. "You mentioned the compass."

"Perhaps you should sit."

She shook her head and remained standing. "You mentioned the compass," she repeated. "You must have known I had magic."

"Aye, I did," he admitted. "I thought you knew—you were the one who told me that it pointed in the direction of your son when you thought of him."

"I thought the _compass_ was magical," she clarified. "How did you know that it wasn't?"

He shook his head. "The compass _is_ magical, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't clear that you were wielding something additional. That's a legendary artifact, love—quite powerful—but it's meant to control travel through portals. I've never heard of it being used the way you've been using it."

"Is this why you agreed to help me for such a nominal fee?" His brow furrowed, and she clarified. "I have _magic_ ; did you plan to use that to your advantage?"

He huffed in offense. "What sort of monster do you take me for?"

She bit back her initial response—that she _knew_ he was Captain Hook, and knew what he was capable of. "I don't even know what sort of man you are!" she pointed out instead. "What sort of ship's captain can just take on such an odd charter, no questions asked? Are you even operating above-board?"

His face grew stony and he was clenching his jaw so hard that she could see his muscles twitching. "Well, don't just insinuate, love. Go ahead—accuse me."

"Excuse me?"

He laughed, but it was an ugly, angry laugh. "No time to play coy—if I'm not above-board, just _what_ am I then?"

She ground her teeth; why couldn't he just admit it? "I think you're a pirate," she finally said, and she was a little surprised to find that some of the edge had gone from her voice.

Liam flinched at the allegation, and she felt some of her anger replaced by guilt. "Perhaps you should sit, so I can explain. That is, unless you'd like to keep yelling at me."

When she'd entered the room, sitting had felt as though it would be a sign of defeat somehow, but now, it seemed to be the only fair course of action. And besides, the promise of an explanation was much too precious to give up. "Very well." She sat, arranging the blanket so that it continued to cover her legs as she did so. Liam paced for a moment before sitting across from her.

"We are free men on this ship, love. We take on whichever jobs we please, sometimes shipping cargo, but usually carrying passengers much like yourself. The reason you haven't seen us do so is because you requested that we not take on additional travelers while you are with us."

She could feel her face burning. She _had_ requested no additional passengers. It did make his small fee even more puzzling—if she was taking away from their most common business, shouldn't he have asked for more gold? But before she could bring it up, he spoke again, confessing something that was simultaneously unsurprising and entirely unexpected.

"I _was_ a pirate, though. Many years ago." Her mouth dropped open; she hadn't thought he would _ever_ admit to her this piece of his identity. "It was when my brother died." There was no trace of deception in his voice, on his face, or in his posture.

It was as though the hatch had burst open again, except instead of water spilling over her, waves of guilt drenched her instead. "Liam, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's only fair," he said, waving his hand to silence her protestations. "You've had to dance around the topic of my late brother, always feeling shame when you broached the subject; you deserve the truth."

She opened her mouth to argue—that this wasn't necessary, that he needn't relive the trauma, that _she already knew who he was—_ beforeclosing it and nodding. He wanted to tell her the truth? Then she would permit him to.

"We were sent to find a magical plant that would cure every illness and injury. Our king sent us off with an illustration, and a story about how it would end all wars.

"When my brother and I finally discovered the plant, we were warned … by a local of sorts, I suppose, that it was in fact extraordinarily deadly. My brother ignored the lad, but I couldn't. I begged my brother to leave the plant behind, to consider that perhaps we'd been lied to. He was so irritated at my insubordination … he handled the weed himself to demonstrate my foolishness."

"But you were right," she whispered.

"Aye. I was right."

"Liam." She'd meant to say his name softly as a comfort, but to her horror, Liam grew more distraught. "I—I'm so sorry," she added quickly, and she reached out and took his hand, keeping the blanket secured with the other. He squeezed tightly, as though holding on.

"Piracy became my path to revenge," he explained. "I refused to obey the man whom I held responsible for my brother's death, the man who would slaughter his enemies _en masse_ with a magical poison." He sighed and dropped her hand. "I embraced that life, and committed atrocities nearly as terrible as those I protested. I—I was not a good man. I've kept this part of me a secret from you out of shame, lest you see me as exactly what you were beginning to see me as earlier tonight: a monster."

"What changed?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're certainly not a pirate now," she prompted.

He smiled sadly. "It's difficult to explain. Just that … I eventually found myself in a situation where revenge was going to cost me more than I was willing to lose. And even more than that, I found myself unhappy with the sort of man I'd become. I could never go back to the person I was before—the naive young lieutenant dreaming of future commissions and heroic journeys. So I became a new man—neither officer nor pirate, but colored by my experiences as each. I'd like to think I did all right."

"I think so," she said gently.

"Thank you." He shifted in his chair. "I think, love, that you are afraid."

"Of you?" she asked in surprise.

He shook his head. "Becoming a pirate was, as far as I was concerned when I was in the navy, the worst thing that could happen to me. A pirate was a man fighting for selfish reasons, for his own profit instead of for the good of his fellow man, committing whatever sins he wished … it was all abhorrent to me. And then, just like that, I became what I had always loathed."

"But you're not a pirate anymore." She was surprised at the passion behind her assertion, given that she had stormed in, minutes earlier, angry that a pirate was expecting her to trust him.

"I'm not that lieutenant anymore either," he pointed out. "As unsavory as it sounds, there are lessons I learned from my days as a pirate, and characteristics I gained that I still consider important to my identity. What I suppose I'm trying to say, love, is that I was faced with a choice, all those years ago, when I was dealt a tragic blow. I could have chosen more wisely, and eventually, I did."

He licked his lips nervously before continuing. "The foundations of your world have been shaken by a revelation, and that cannot be undone. You cannot be the woman you were when you were unaware of your magic." She stiffened, but did not interrupt. "But you always have choices, and even if you misstep, as I did, you can always choose to change your course again."

"How are you so certain?"

He smiled and reached for her hand again. "Every moment I've known you, I have seen the stuff you're made of. You're determined as all hell. If you want to find your son, you _will._ And if you refuse to let your magic corrupt you, it _won't._ No one decides your fate but you; your choices control your magic, not the other way around."

And with that, Emma felt something slide into place inside her, as though her mind had been struggling for hours to find the right orientation for a puzzle piece that it _knew_ must fit in a particular space. Every single instinct inside her since the moment she'd laid eyes on this man had been insisting that she trust him—trust Captain Hook, the villain who'd destroyed Bae's family and murdered his mother. Trust a stranger, a man she hardly knew. She'd fought against it, and now the conflict had ended, so suddenly in contrast to its duration. She trusted this man, and _would_ trust him, come what may.

It was, strangely, a relief, and her shoulders sagged now that her burden had been lifted. But of course, her tears soon followed, even as she tried to blink them away and wipe at her face.

Liam didn't hesitate; he dropped her hand and was at her side within seconds, kneeling down beside her. He stroked her shoulder as he let his left wrist sit on her knee. "Darling, please, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay," she said, trying not to sound too choked. "It's been a difficult day."

He chuckled. "Aye, I quite agree. Every last person on this ship deserves a week of rest, and you're most deserving of all."

"That _can't_ be true."

"You _did_ push open a hatch _and_ rescue my sorry arse." Now it was her turn to chuckle. "Would you like me to escort you back to your cabin?" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Not that—obviously, you're welcome to stay. Whatever you need, you must only ask for it."

What _did_ she need? She was on a storm-battered ship, far from the only home she'd ever known, in the company of Captain Hook, and she'd just learned she possessed magical powers. What she needed, she thought wryly, was more alcohol than was recommended for a stressed-out princess; while she was sure Liam would acquiesce, she knew his reluctance would be wise and justified. The thought of returning to her cabin wasn't particularly attractive, especially since she wasn't sure she would be able to sleep given the nature of the nightmare she'd experienced earlier.

"Could I …" she gulped and hesitated, "maybe stay here?"

"Of course. There's an extra bunk in the crew's quarters I can use; I'll show you where that is in case you need me."

She shook her head, embarrassed that she was going to have to spell it out. "No, I mean, I'd like to stay here _with_ you."

He hesitated. "Oh."

"Not—I mean, not like _that_ , I just—"

"No, no, of course." He cleared his throat. "Of course." She met his gaze; even in the dim lamplight, she could see the deep blush in his cheeks. "Of _course_ ," he said again, emphatically.

And so she lay in Liam's narrow bed that night with her back pressed to his, and while it took her hours to fall asleep, she had no nightmares.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to know what you think!**


	8. Chapter Eight

The following morning, Emma braced herself for awkwardness. After all, she was the crown princess, and she'd slept beside a former pirate (who was centuries her senior) to whom she was not married. But the former pirate himself didn't seem to think the situation was cause for shame; she awoke to find him already up and dressed, tossing her a lazy smile (and an apple for breakfast) before heading above deck to check on the state of the ship. No one saw her quickly return to her own cabin to sort herself out for the day, and when she joined Liam at the helm, none of the crewmen behaved as though anything had happened besides the storm.

"The news isn't optimal, love, but it could have been worse," Liam said when she stood beside him. She wasn't surprised; given that one of the masts had entirely _fallen_ , she'd known they would need to find the nearest port as soon as possible. "We'll try to repair as much of the damage as we can as we go, but I'd hazard a guess that we'll be ashore for at least two nights once we make port. That storm was …" He paused and frowned, before shaking his head. "Well, it was quite awful. And worse, we're in unfamiliar territory. I'll show you when we're back in my cabin, but finding the next port is likely going to take some guesswork."

"I could try the compass," she offered.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it points to my son when I think about him. There's no reason to believe it wouldn't point elsewhere. Perhaps if I were to think about the nearest port, that should get us on our way?"

"Perhaps," he replied thoughtfully. "I'd assumed that the compass only pointed towards your son, so that's a bit of good news. But as you know, there's always more to navigation besides turning the ship in the right direction. I'd like to know what sort of seas we're sailing in. As I said, I'll show you the charts in a bit."

She spent the rest of the morning helping out where she could, whether it meant holding sailcloth or netting, carrying objects from one man to another, or pulling hard on certain ropes when asked. Liam spent a great deal of time below deck, where there was plenty more damage Emma hadn't seen yet; meanwhile, the ship remained anchored, and the journey remained stalled.

Finally after a brief lunch, Liam showed her the charts. "It's my fault," she said immediately.

"The water damage isn't all that bad, love." He pointed to a particular spot. "I couldn't even read this part of the chart _before_ it got thoroughly doused."

"Is there anything you recognize?"

His index finger moved far to the left, to what appeared to be a land formation. "I'm reasonably sure this is the southernmost point of Arendelle, just based on the shoreline pattern here, but I've no clue where we are in relation to it." He gestured at the center of the chart. "And worse, if there's anything here, we won't be able to navigate around it."

Against all odds, though, something about the map in front of her looked _familiar._ And even more surprising than that, she felt no warmth or strange pulse, the attributes she now knew to be associated with her magic (her magic! She would never be used to this!). How could a sea chart, one that baffled an experienced sailor who'd lived centuries, look familiar to her?

"Oh … oh!"

"What's that?"

"Wait one moment!" She rushed back to her cabin and returned with her pack. "I forgot I had these." Gently, she pulled out the maps she'd taken from Rumplestiltskin's study.

Liam touched them almost reverently before he seemed to realize they were in excellent condition and could stand to be handled a little less carefully. "Love, you are _brilliant,"_ he said happily. "Where on earth did you even find these?" He looked up at her curiously. "How did you even know we'd need these?"

"I, uh …" she said, before giving up and shrugging. "I had a chance to take them, and they weren't adding very much weight to my pack. I didn't foresee their utility."

"Well, either way, well done, darling." He spread them flat, lightly dropping the older, unreadable charts below the table to make room. "Oh, this is much better. Are you up for trying the compass?"

"Of course." She pulled it from her neck, where she'd taken to wearing it during the day on a chain. "I should direct us to the nearest port, correct?"

"Yes, but I hope we can do more than that." He pointed to a spot on the map. "I wonder if you can convince the compass to point us towards here." He grinned at her. "Let's just say I'm attempting to find our exact position without the aid of the stars."

"It's worth a try." She looked at the point on the map—a swell of sandy beige that was clearly meant to be a bank. Closing her eyes briefly, she imagined it as best she could, the light blue of the water giving away the shallow depths, and the particular shape of it, given the drawing on the map.

There was no pulse or warmth; she opened her eyes to find that the compass was simply pointing north, as it always did when she wasn't thinking of Henry. She frowned. "It's not working."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Perhaps you should try again?"

She did, to no avail. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Let me see if I can get it to work at all. Perhaps now that I know I have magic, it's decided to stop cooperating." He chuckled at her personification of the item.

She thought of Henry, and sure enough, there was a pulse of warmth in her hand; pointing southwest. Just to be sure, she also thought of her mother, recalling the first time she had realized the compass was magical. Sure enough, there was another pulse, and the compass now pointed northwest. "What were you thinking of?" Liam asked.

"My mother," she replied. When else had the compass worked before? It had worked when she'd thought of her mother, and Henry—and Liam, she remembered suddenly, thinking of that day in port. As soon as she thought of him, the compass needle swung in his direction. But when she thought of the nearest port, or that spot on the map, nothing happened. "I'm sorry. It doesn't seem to work the way we need it to."

"That's all right, love." He gently rubbed her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to lean into his touch. "Actually, if you can show me where your mother is, back in your kingdom, that may actually help us navigate. We can wait until the evening, when the stars are out. In the meantime, we should get back to repairs."

Evening finally came, and though Emma was exhausted and only wanted to sit and enjoy supper before crawling into bed for all eternity, navigation came first. Besides, she'd have to wait to eat anyway; the crew had been so busy tending to the ship, supper hadn't been prepared yet.

And so she stood above deck, holding the compass while Liam used his sextant and made annotations to the charts. Sometimes, he would reposition her before asking her to think of her mother or son. She relished the feeling of his hand and wrist on her shoulders, his body so close behind hers, as he slowly turned her in the proper direction; she would always close her eyes when it happened, heightening the sensations.

Three days, he concluded, as they made their way to his cabin for supper. It would take three days to get to the nearest port, in a country Emma had never heard of before, and that Liam knew very little about. Three days of travel, then perhaps two or three days of repairs, and then they would be back on track.

As they dined, Liam cleared his throat.

"There is something I've been hoping to talk with you about," he began, uncertainty bleeding into his voice. Emma stiffened; was he going to broach the subject of their obvious growing attraction? She desperately hoped not; talking about it meant making a decision about it, and gods above, she was not ready for _that._ "It's simply that … we're on a journey to rescue your son, but you hardly speak of him."

She relaxed a bit; while it was difficult to talk about Henry, it would be preferable to revealing her feelings for the captain. "It's painful to discuss him," she admitted. "I find it easier to get through the day if I can forget why I'm here."

Liam shifted and coughed. "Well, that is one way to deal with grief. What's the lad's name? You've never said."

It was time to lie, for the first time since she'd come aboard the _Lady Swan_ and told Liam that her name was Ruth. "James." It was the only name that came to mind that wasn't Henry, David, or Baelfire; she felt some guilt assigning it to Henry, given that it was her deceased uncle's name, and the man had been quite cruel and depraved.

"James," she repeated. "Not quite fourteen. Old enough to get in trouble, but young enough to still need his mother."

Liam chuckled. "I remember that age well; us lads always think we know everything when we really know nothing. I was fortunate to have my brother around to keep me in my place—give me someone to look up to."

She nodded. "I often worry I'm not enough of a role model. As little as I believe a child _must_ have both a mother and a father to grow up well, I do know that sometimes, I'm not the right person for him to connect with. There are times when he needs another man to talk to, to show him how to be a good and just man—to demonstrate when I cannot."

"How long ago did his father pass?"

She sighed. "A year ago. He fell from his horse."

"I'm sorry."

"It's—it's all right, truly. I have been lonely since I lost him."

"You said it was an arranged marriage?" She nodded. "It's wonderful that you grew to love him so." He sounded sad.

"I did love him, but …" How could she possibly explain? "Have you ever been _deeply_ in love? Truly? I mean the stuff that bards sing of, and all that."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry," she added. "Inappropriate question, I suppose."

"Well, I brought it up, lass," he said. "I have been deeply in love, and loved just as fiercely back."

"Who was she?" she asked, trying not to stare at where she knew his tattoo lay under his sleeve.

"She, uh … she was married. Very unhappily married. We met back when I was coming into my own as a pirate, and I told her of my adventures. I found myself returning to that port frequently just to see her. She wanted to see the world, and so I told her I'd take her with me. That was all it was ever supposed to be: freeing a miserable and despondent woman from a life she was trapped in.

"Her husband came to stage some sort of a rescue the day we were to set sail. She was too afraid to face him, to admit why she'd left. And I, being a young fool who was certainly not oblivious to her beauty, figured that the least I could do to keep her on board would be to ensure her husband left quickly, thinking I'd kidnapped her."

"But you didn't kidnap her?" Emma asked. _This_ was certainly new information; Liam didn't appear to be lying to her.

He flashed a debonair smile, and she felt suddenly warm. "Love, I've never needed to kidnap a woman. It's one of the great benefits of being so dashing." She blushed—he _must_ know by now that she wasn't remotely unaffected. "No, I did not kidnap her; I provided her with the life she asked for.

"But I was rude and cruel to her husband when he came looking for her. I humiliated him in front of my crew. Even now, I still wish I had found another way to deter him while respecting her wishes.

"We had six years together." His eyes remained fixated on his sleeve, as though he could see the indelible ink hidden by the fabric. "Six years. It would never have been enough time. At first, she was just some woman who was tagging along with us, but she quickly became part of the crew. And then she became my first mate. And then … well, and then the rest is history."

"What happened to her?" She needed to know. For Bae's sake, she needed to know. And everything Liam said was truthful; she could feel it.

"Her husband found us." He was hardly speaking above a whisper. "He'd … he'd gained power and influence. I tried to give her a chance to escape—I lied and said she was dead, and he focused his wrath on me. But that infuriating woman … she came back to save me. And he killed her."

Emma recalled the way that Bae spoke about his mother's death. _Captain Hook kidnapped her, and it killed her. He's the reason she's dead._ And even the Dark One spoke of his late wife vaguely: _He took her from us, and she died—it was that damn pirate's fault._ The implication had always been clear: Captain Hook had killed her. When she'd phrased it that way, on the rare occasions the subject came up, Baelfire never corrected her.

But it had always _remained_ an implication. Although perhaps they'd rationalized what had happened by believing that Hook was still responsible, even if it wasn't his own hand that ended Milah's life …

"You think it was your fault," she said.

He stared at her defiantly. "I didn't protect her."

"But you didn't kill her," she said insistently. "You loved her."

"Aye, I loved her, and here I am, living out my happy ending." He gestured at the cabin. "Except I'm _not_ because she was murdered for my actions."

"You think your brother's death was your fault, too," she realized. "And that's not true either."

"It _is_ true," he replied hotly, practically spitting in anger. "If I hadn't goaded him, he'd never have touched that damn plant! And if I hadn't humiliated the—my love's husband, do you think he would have made such an example out of her? Out of _me?"_ He shoved his left arm in her face.

" _He_ did this to you?" she asked softly, trying to calm him down.

" _This_ is what True Love gets you." He lowered his voice, but he hadn't regained his composure. "Is this what you wanted? To love so fiercely that you end up maimed or dead?"

"I am constantly envious of those who've experienced True Love." She tried to keep her voice steady. But it was true. She'd known that Rumplestiltskin had known such love—a young noblewoman he'd made a deal with, who'd died—and he spoke of his lost love with more reverence than she'd imagined him capable of expressing. And Regina herself had thrown her life away trying to get revenge for the death of _her_ beloved; on the rare occasions Emma had been present for a verbal altercation between her mother and step-grandmother, the Evil Queen never hesitated to remind Snow White who was responsible for Daniel's untimely and horrific end.

And, of course, there were her parents, whose True Love had broken the infamous sleeping curse. Their story had not ended happily either, with the constant threat of Regina and their disagreements of how to handle her eventually taking their toll. But they had still experienced that powerful emotion, strong enough to break a curse, before they had moved on.

What Emma and Baelfire had, before he died, had been companionship. Friendship. Understanding. But there had been no passion, before or after Henry was conceived. She'd loved him as a friend, and missed him in the same fashion, but she'd always drawn her strength from her own self. "The closest thing I've ever had is the love I have for my son," she said. "But I gave away my chance at a happy ending so that I could make my family happy."

"This isn't a happy ending, lass," Liam said, his voice _finally_ softening. He gestured at the end of his left arm. "Love brought me nothing but pain. Ugliness."

Without spending any time to debate the appropriateness of her action, she reached out and cupped the blunted wrist. Setting her jaw, she looked into his face. "I see no ugliness," she said.

His bright blue eyes were wide, and his own lips were parted in surprise. He didn't seem offended or shocked. He looked—

There was a knock on the door behind her, and both of them jumped noticeably in their seats; the sudden movement resulted in her hand falling from his arm before Edmund stepped inside. "Are you and milady finished, Captain?"

"Yes, Edmund, thank you," Liam said, his tone friendly and unworried. With his ability to hide the fact that he'd just been a part of an extremely intense emotional moment, he would make an excellent politician. Edmund expertly cleared the dishes and nodded his head as he exited with them.

"I suppose I should get some rest," Emma said awkwardly.

"Aye, I suppose," Liam replied. "Shall I walk you to your cabin?"

"Maybe …" she said, before pausing. She cursed internally; why had she expected him to offer to share his bed again? He'd _just_ told her the truth of what had happened with Milah, and in no uncertain terms made it clear that he believed love would bring nothing but misery and torment. And _she_ had spoken of her own husband. The impropriety of her own desires made her face flush.

"My apologies," he said, before she could decide how to finish her sentence. "You are of course welcome to stay." He cleared his throat. "After all, your belongings are mostly here already." He gestured to her pack, still slumped up against the leg of the table, where she'd left it when she'd pulled the maps out.

"I don't mind," she said quickly. "I don't want to impose, and it's not as though—"

He held up his hand to quiet her, before chuckling almost sadly as he looked down at the surface of the table. "Neither one of us should be so embarrassed around the other that we are unable to clearly articulate our wishes."

"You're right." She swallowed hard. "I would like to stay here again. With you," she added, though she knew he would not misinterpret her.

"I would like that as well." He looked up at her and smiled. "I'll be back momentarily; though we're not sailing through the night, I still need to speak with some of my crew before I retire. But that should give you ample time to ready yourself, aye?" She nodded, and his smile widened. "Then I'll be back, love."

Her hands shook as she quickly changed into her chemise, and she took advantage of the basin of water leftover from the morning to wash her face, though she gasped at the temperature. She was a little anxious as she climbed up into Liam's bunk; when she'd joined him the night before (she blushed hard at her mind's choice of words), it had been a spur of the moment decision. She'd been distraught over the discovery of her magic and the terrible nightmare she'd experienced; he'd been offering her comfort. But now, she was opting for his bed when she had no need of such comfort.

The linens had been soap-scented the day before, when they were clean and unused, but now they smelled of _him._

What was she doing?

Every day, she grew worse and worse. Every day she was on this ship, thoughts of Liam grew more and more prominent. At first, he was simply handsome and a little mysterious, and then he was all that and dangerous, too. But now, she couldn't stop thinking about how badly she wished to run her hands along his body, and feel his fingers and lips on her skin. She couldn't stop feeling ashamed at the jealousy she now felt towards her own deceased mother-in-law, who'd been brutally murdered for the crime of loving this man and having him love her back.

As she stewed in her own guilt, Liam returned. He strategically quenched the lamps, permitting him to change under the cover of darkness; Emma wondered just how much she might be able to see in the moonlight, but she was relieved that she still had the decency to turn away as he undressed. She was still facing the wall when he climbed in beside her, clearly trying as much as he could not to press against her while they shared the narrow mattress.

"All right, love?" he asked roughly. "Do you have enough room?"

"I do," she said, squirming a little closer to the wall. "You're not falling off, are you?"

"Not at all. Sleep well, Ruth."

"You, too, Liam."

She had trouble falling asleep, as she had the night before, due to the shame of the indecency she was engaged in, the discomfort of sleeping back-to-back with someone on such a small bed, and the excitement of being so near to him in such an intimate setting. He seemed to fall asleep without much issue, or at least he was quite still after only a few minutes. As she was finally falling asleep, though, he grunted and flipped over, and, to her surprise, he gripped her around her waist.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked indignantly, turning over to face him.

Shock was piled upon shock, though, as she came face to face with _Baelfire._ He was young again, looking just as he had when they were betrothed. "How is this possible?" she gasped. "You're alive!"

"I'll never stop fighting for us, Emma," he said insistently. He pulled her out of the bed and grasped her hands tightly in his.

"I don't understand how you're here."

"I know I have a lot to make up for," he continued.

"But—no, you don't!" she protested.

"Aye, he does." It was Liam, but he was _young,_ his hair as dark as night and his eyes rimmed with kohl. She gaped at his clothing—he was a _pirate_ now; he wore his overcoat over black leather, and his hook glinted in lantern light. "After the way he left you, he can't expect your forgiveness so readily."

"She doesn't want you here, Hook," Bae growled. "It's time for you to go."

Liam—no, he _was_ Hook—rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I think not. _I'm_ the one who brought her here, to save Henry. I'm risking my life for her—for your boy. And besides," he added, smiling at her, "I don't think she _wants_ me to leave."

Bae laughed in disbelief. "You're nothing but a pirate. Emma wants you gone—isn't that right?"

She opened her mouth to agree with her husband, but she couldn't stop staring at _Hook._ No _wonder_ Milah had been so taken with him; his youth amplified his beauty a thousand fold, and his wicked attire did nothing to make him less appealing. But more than that, he was staring at her in earnest, as though they shared some secret unknown to Baelfire. It was a secret she couldn't seem to remember, but that he clearly fervently hoped she would.

He was _right._ Wherever Bae had been, he had _not_ been by her side when she'd gone after Henry. It had been _Hook_ who'd offered her his ship, who'd reassured her that they would find her son, who'd encouraged her to accept her magic. Pirate or not, he was a good man, and she wanted him by her side.

"No," she said, her voice low. "I want him to stay."

Bae's eyes narrowed at her betrayal. But Hook's face split into a grin. "Well done, Swan."

What? "Who's Swan?" she asked.

"What about a swan?" Liam asked.

"You said Swan," she reminded him.

He just shook his head, his face overcome with confusion. "No, _you_ did," he corrected. With a start, she realized that he was old again, his hair silver and his face lined.

"Gods, I'm sorry," she groaned. "I was dreaming."

He chuckled. "It's all right."

"Did I wake you?"

"Aye, but don't trouble yourself."

"What did I say?"

"Just that you wanted someone to stay, and then you asked about a swan."

"I am sorry, though—"

"It's really nothing to worry about," he insisted, caressing the small of her back. She stiffened; why were his arms around her? He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "As you've clearly noticed, my sleeping self had a mind of his own. I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me." He began to shift to pull his arm out from beneath her.

"Wait," she said, and he stilled. Perhaps it was because the dream, and the choice she'd made within, were still fresh in her mind, or perhaps it was because it had taken her long enough to accept her desires and moving backwards now seemed objectionable. Her sleepy mind recalled their earlier conversation. "You said neither of us should be embarrassed about what we want," she reminded him.

"Aye, I did," he replied roughly.

"Good." He didn't move to release her. "Good night, Liam."

"Good night."

She didn't have time to wonder at the ease with which she fell back asleep in his arms, as it happened too suddenly for thought.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! And please head over to swankkat's Tumblr to see the beautiful artwork for this chapter, and to give her feedback!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Content note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.**

 **As usual, check out swankkat on Tumblr for the artwork!**

* * *

The following day was a heady mixture of excitement and hesitation. Though their agreement to stop dancing around the issue of what they both clearly wanted had led to a sudden increase in overt displays of affection, Emma still found herself holding back somewhat.

Nothing had really changed, after all: she was the crown princess of a kingdom constantly in conflict; he was a centuries old pirate whose past with her family was unbelievably complicated; and most importantly, she was _supposed_ to be focused on rescuing her son from the forces of evil.

But even with her consciously reminding herself that she could not let herself engage in any romantic behavior with Liam, she couldn't seem to reject his advances when he made them. He'd place his hand at the small of her back when they stood or walked beside each other, and instead of moving away, she'd lean into his touch. While she could have limited their conversations, she instead found every reason possible to keep them going, and she tried everything she could to get him to grin or laugh. And when he brushed away a lock of her hair that the wind was keeping in her face, she couldn't help but smile brightly at him.

When they returned to his cabin for supper, she was annoyed to find that a few of her belongings she'd left in her cabin, such as her cloak, had been moved to his. The crew was obviously aware that their mysterious traveler was now sharing the Captain's quarters.

"What have you told them?" she asked, once they were settling into bed that night.

"They know better than to ask me," Liam admitted. "I can dispel any rumors, if you'd like."

"There are rumors?"

"I assume so. What would _you_ believe if you were outside the situation?"

"I was just curious," she said defensively.

"As I said, I'm happy to dispel any rumors," he said, repeating the offer.

"The more we protest, the more they'll believe such rumors." At least, that's what would happen at court. But Liam's knowing nod served to inform her that court and crew might not be terribly disparate.

"They won't say anything," he reassured her, "or treat you with disrespect."

"I'm not worried." And she wasn't. She wasn't sure what would happen when the journey was over, but she knew that there would be plenty of vicious gossip throughout the kingdom when she returned after weeks at sea in the company of a former pirate. She felt a little guilty; it was almost entirely certain that, when everything was said and done, Liam's past as Captain Hook _would_ come to light, whether or not he was ready.

She imagined her father-in-law might have some objections regarding her association with someone he considered a nemesis, but again, she'd deal with that when she needed to. Henry, though, might be pleased to hear that Captain Hook had aided in his rescue.

And she _would_ rescue him, come hell or high water.

But a thought occurred to her that she'd been trying to ignore as the voyage had worn on: how _would_ she rescue Henry?

Though she had no idea how to control it, she _did_ have magic, and as far as she knew, Regina was entirely unaware of that fact. If she practiced, she might be able to use it to become invisible and sneak past Regina's defenses, or maybe even freeze guards in place. If Regina had magical barriers, maybe it was possible to break them down or pass through them.

Would Regina be keeping Henry in a dungeon? Or maybe locked in a tower? Emma supposed it all came down to why Regina had kidnapped Henry in the first place, if she didn't plan on killing him. Did she plan on leading Emma on a wild goose chase as a distraction? Would she arrive at Regina's lair to find her son long dead?

Oh, but _that_ was something she could _not_ think about.

Except now it was all she _could_ think about.

Henry, slumping over with blood spreading through the fabric of his doublet.

Henry, hanging by the neck from the gallows.

Henry, crumpled on the cold stone floor.

Henry, white as marble, in a glass coffin.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

She pounded on the glass, but it wouldn't break, and Henry was dead, he was dead, he was dead, her _son_ was _dead_ —

"Wake up, love!"

She gasped as she woke, finding Liam hovering over her. "It's all right, love. It's all right. It was just a dream." He stroked her back as she continued to gulp down breaths of air.

A dream. Just a dream. Another dream.

But she could still see Henry's pale face, almost as if she were _still_ dreaming. And _had_ it just been a dream? Her dreams had been stranger than ever lately; what if it _meant_ something? What if he really was—

She flinched as Liam practically leapt out of the bed. "What—what are you doing?" Her throat felt raw, as though she'd been screaming for hours.

"Here." He returned with a handkerchief. "You're crying, darling."

"Oh." As she busied herself with drying her face, he lit a candle beside the bed.

"For the nightmares," he said. In the dim light, she could see him blush faintly. "You, ah, mentioned your father used to do this?"

"Yes," she breathed out. "He did." Overwhelmed with a feeling she couldn't name, she wiped at her eyes again.

But even with the candle lit, and Liam once again beside her, holding her, the image of Henry's dead body refused to leave her mind. She really had no way of knowing if he was alive, and maybe she'd been foolish to assume he was. How was she supposed to go on if he were gone? Could she really survive seeing her son's dead body?

"Are you all right?" Liam asked.

"No," she whispered.

"What did you dream?"

"He was dead." Saying it out loud brought on a fresh wave of tears. "My son. It felt so real."

"It was just a dream."

"I have no way of knowing."

"The compass still points to him."

"It could point to his body."

"Do you truly think that?"

She could feel tears rise up again. "I don't know what to think anymore." Just that Henry could be dead. Dead. His pale face ...

His arms tightened around her. "What can I do, love? What do you need?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. You can't do anything."

"Surely there's something. Please."

"I just—I keep seeing him. I can't stop thinking about it."

She felt his hand on her chin, gently lifting her face towards his. She opened her eyes to find him staring earnestly at her. "Do you trust me, darling?" She nodded almost automatically. "Then let me … let me take care of you."

What on earth did he mean by that? Wasn't he already taking care of her—or at least trying to—by lighting the candle and holding her?

He leaned forward and kissed her softly, and her mind momentarily went blank.

He was kissing her. Liam was kissing her. _Gods,_ she had wanted this for days and it was finally happening. He was kissing her.

By the time she'd regained her senses, his lips had moved to her neck, and his hand had begun sliding down her body, caressing her through the fabric of her chemise. She tensed; this was something she _wanted_ , but every reason she _couldn't_ have it was slamming into her: her lineage, Baelfire, _Henry._

It didn't escape Liam's notice; he stilled. "I can stop," he said. His lips were still pressed against her skin.

She didn't want him to stop. She didn't want him to _think_ she wanted him to stop. And she had a split-second to decide or else he was going to stop anyway.

"No, don't stop." Her heart began to beat even faster; it had been one thing to have him kiss her and touch her, but it was another entirely to have now _asked_ him to.

For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move, almost as if he'd decided to ignore her words in favor of the tension in her body. But then he resumed his ministrations, and began making his way to her front.

She watched as he kissed the tops of her breasts, and she nearly stopped breathing as he kissed her nipples through the fabric that still covered them. She could feel the heat of his mouth, and when he pursed his lips around one of them, her body suddenly caught up with what was happening and reacted accordingly.

She dropped her head back onto the pillow as arousal and anticipation flooded her.

He clearly noticed that she'd relaxed—or at least that her tension had taken on an entirely different quality. His lips moved down to her stomach, and she twitched slightly as he began to bunch up the fabric at her waist.

She hadn't felt so exposed in years; she and Bae hadn't engaged in regular lovemaking after Henry had been born, and even then, their forays into sex beyond the traditional had been rather limited. The occasions when he would use his mouth had been few and far between, and while they'd been enjoyable, they hadn't been what she'd felt all those romance novels had promised her.

What they _had_ promised her was this very moment, as Liam's mouth found her sex.

Dear _gods_ , it was nothing like she'd experienced or even imagined. It was both gentle and firm, hard and soft. How did he know to move his lips just so? Or his tongue? Gods, his _tongue_ was everywhere, tasting every bit of her, moving inside—

The hazy pleasure sharpened, and the world fell away.

She reached out, trying to grasp something, _anything_ , to hold onto; she wasn't sure what her hands found. She couldn't _think_ about it. All she could think about was how he was moving his tongue and his lips and gods above his hand was pressing _so_ close to—

If he would only go faster—but he _was_ , and—

It was as though he were reading her mind, teasing her, pushing her—

Right _there_ , oh, _and_ there, and—

And then he _moaned_ and she could _feel_ it—

Faster and harder and _more_ and—

It was—

She was—

—coming—

—coming—

—coming—so hard that she couldn't feel her legs.

She wasn't sure if she cared whether they were even still attached to her body.

Liam slowed his attentions as he coaxed out the aftershocks of her climax. It was only then that she noticed the laces of her chemise had come undone, and one of her breasts had spilled out. She released her grip on his left wrist and covered herself with trembling hands.

He gave one last gentle kiss to her sex. "All right there, darling?"

How could she even begin to answer that question? She could barely think.

Which had been the point, hadn't it?

"I—yes." Her throat felt raw; had she been vocal? Did the whole crew know what had just happened?

Liam slid down off the bed and began rummaging through a drawer. She tried to turn to see what he was doing, but her body was being uncooperative on that front. She just wanted to lie there, enjoying the warm pleasure still simmering inside. It took enough effort to tie her chemise shut, and even then, she was reasonably sure it would come undone again as she slept.

He returned with a soft towel, and she was so spent that she hardly reacted at all as he used it to clean her, and then his own face. Afterwards, he tossed it to the floor and climbed back into bed. "Did I overstep?"

"No, not at all."

"Did it help?"

"I think so. Thank you." Thanking him seemed insufficient, but she couldn't come up with any other words.

He chuckled. "Not terribly effusive in the afterglow, are you?"

"I asked you to help me stop thinking, and it worked," she pointed out. She made an attempt to shift to the side to give him more room. As she did so, her hip slid against his erection.

"Apologies," he said.

"For what?" He mumbled something about making her uncomfortable when she'd brushed up against him. "Would you like—I could—"

"I'm fine, love."

"That can't be comfortable."

"It's fine."

"I—I wouldn't _mind_ , Liam."

"Perhaps I would."

"You'll have trouble sleeping."

"Ruth," he said firmly. She felt a flicker of frustration at being called by her alias; she wanted to hear him call her _Emma_. "This was for you. This isn't about me, and I don't want it to be."

She opened her mouth to disagree; she didn't particularly _want_ what had just occurred to be one-sided. But his expression brooked no argument.

"Okay," she said. He shifted so that he could embrace her, and she tucked herself into his chest. "Thank you again."

"Of course."

She slept soundly, not remembering until morning why he'd pleasured her in the first place. Even then, she was able to think about her dream without freezing in terror; it was just a dream, after all. She almost felt silly that she'd needed so much help getting it out of her mind.

But then again, the method that Liam had employed was something she was certainly happy to think more about. And repeat.

She'd awoken before him, and considered waking him up with a kiss. His kiss last night had been all too unexpected and brief. She wanted to repeat the experience with all her wits about her, and for reasons unrelated to unspeakable nightmares. What would it feel like to be the one to initiate the kiss? What would it feel like to kiss him for more than a brief moment? To feel the wet slide of his tongue between _these_ lips—

His eyes opened. "Good morning," he said softly. "How did you sleep?"

His question did little to distract her from her current thoughts. "Fine. And you?"

"Soundly. I told you it wouldn't be an issue."

For a moment, she was confused, before she remembered how he'd refused to let her reciprocate. "It wouldn't have been either way," she said, a little more sternly than she'd meant.

"You were under no obligation to do—"

"Obligation?"

"Well, _yes,_ obligation." He pushed himself up and climbed out of bed to begin dressing. He seemed incredibly frustrated, either at her or the situation, and she almost wanted to remind him that she hadn't _asked_ him for the help he'd chosen to provide.

At which point it occurred to her that maybe that was the problem. "And what you did, was that out of obligation?"

"What? Of course not!" he replied, clearly horrified. "But being unable to sleep because of a night terror is a far cry more of an issue than being unable to sleep because of unsated desires. There was no need for you to reciprocate."

"Maybe I wanted to!"

That stopped him in his tracks. "You what?"

"Maybe I wanted to," she repeated.

Before he could reply, Edmund was knocking on the door. It was time for the day to start.

The crew, at least, seemed to be in high spirits. They would soon make port and have at least one or two relaxing evenings ashore, all on Emma's dime. It was difficult for her to share their enthusiasm, and not only because spending time on land waiting for repairs meant _not_ looking for Henry. Liam didn't seem angry with her admission, but he seemed flustered and distracted, and as a result, they barely spoke the entire day. It soured her own mood considerably.

But the day had to end, even if it seemed to take ages to do so, and Emma found herself back in his cabin, sitting in her chair across the table from him, eating silently.

For several minutes, she was determined _not_ to be the one to break the tension. She'd been the one to have the last word earlier, and she felt reasonably justified that it was his turn to admit what _he_ was thinking or feeling. He didn't exactly seem _content_ to wait her out; he kept stealing glances at her before returning his gaze to his plate. The meal was quickly turning into a contest between them, to see who would end the silence first.

She was finished with her food, and he was nearly done, by the time her frustration overcame her stubbornness. "Did you want to?" she finally asked as she set her fork down on her empty plate.

"Did I want to what?" She rolled her eyes and he took the hint. "Pleasure you?"

"Yes."

For a moment, she thought he might make an excuse, or deflect. But instead, he replied, "Yes, I did."

"Good."

The conversation, if it could even have been called such, ended there, and they stayed quiet as Edmund came to clear the dishes. Liam left the room briefly to make sure everything was settled for the night, while Emma readied herself for bed and climbed in. It felt a little odd to maintain the routine, given that she felt like they were having a fight, but she wasn't sure what else to do.

If he was surprised to see her in bed when he returned, he didn't let it show. He simply changed into his sleeping attire while she averted her gaze out of courtesy, and climbed in with her.

But as he embraced her, he immediately kissed her. This time, his kiss was firm, not tentative, and he coaxed her lips open with what felt like practiced ease. Soon, she was practically gasping for breath, and her knuckles were white from gripping his shirt.

He was panting when he finally pulled back, and he chuckled a little darkly as she automatically leaned in, unconsciously chasing his lips. _"Never_ doubt that what I did was because I wanted to," he said.

"Then don't doubt _me,"_ she replied earnestly. "Let me do what I want to."

After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed hard and nodded.

It had been years and years since Emma had used her mouth like this. It would have been unseemly at _best_ had she done so before she'd been married, and the concept had never appealed to her much in her youth anyway. The only man who'd been lucky enough to have the princess' lips wrapped around him had been Bae.

Even then, the act hadn't been that interesting to Emma, and she also hadn't really enjoyed the feelings it evoked in her. She'd never been one to care much about her title, but something about being the _crown princess_ made her feel a little indignant about putting a cock in her mouth. And since her marital vows had included no such nonsense about _serving_ her husband in any capacity, she'd done so rarely enough that Bae had stopped ever even suggesting it.

But things were different now. She wasn't the crown princess here, at least not to Liam. And being seen for the first time in her life as just a _person_ , who wasn't a princess or a prize or a figurehead or a conquest, changed the act somehow. She was just a woman who wanted to be intimate with a man and share in the pleasure of each other's bodies. And as he'd loved her with his mouth the night before, she wanted to do the same.

Of course, given that it had been years since she'd done this, and she hadn't gotten much practice, she only hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself too much. Unsure of exactly how to start, she followed Liam's lead from the previous night, kissing down his neck and chest as she dragged her hands down his sides. It was slightly intoxicating to be touching his body so actively, as opposed to being touched and embraced _by_ him. She could feel the lean musculature of his torso, and the rise of his chest as he gave a sharp intake of breath in response to her dragging her nails underneath his shirt.

When she reached his groin, she hesitated. He was very clearly aroused, with his erection tenting his linen breeches almost comically, but it seemed as though she'd barely spent any time building anticipation. She tried to remember how long he'd spent kissing and caressing her, but all she could remember was that he had done it at all, and then he'd kissed her _there_ until she'd nearly combusted from pleasure.

But then again, he _was_ obviously already very eager for her to continue. Hopefully, he wouldn't judge her skills inadequate if she didn't spend more time teasing him. She tugged at his breeches; in response, he lifted his hips slightly to aid her. And then there it was: his shaft was naked before her.

She felt suddenly shy, remembering how she'd felt when she was sixteen years old, joining Baelfire in their bed on their first night as a married couple. It was a little embarrassing; she wasn't some blushing young virgin anymore, but somehow, that was how she felt in the moment now.

The weight of their age difference and life experiences began to settle on her; as a pirate, he'd probably enjoyed his fair share of women over the years, while she'd only ever performed this act with one man, and even then, too rarely to have developed any real skill at it. Should she be doing this?

"You don't have to," Liam whispered roughly, and she realized she'd been staring at him long enough that he was beginning to soften slightly.

"Sorry. I was—it's not important." No better way to further ruin the mood than to confess the thoughts she'd been having. No; she needed to focus.

She wanted to give this man pleasure, and she would.

The groan he made when she licked him from the base of his shaft to the tip was all she needed to shed her inhibitions and insecurities.

The sounds that fell from his mouth when she swirled her tongue around him were enough to stoke the fire between her own legs.

The way he bucked his hips when she gripped him tightly made her eager to do this to him again, as soon as the next opportunity presented itself.

The feeling of his hand in her hair, as though he were simply desperate to hold onto something—anything—made her certain that he must be feeling how he had made her feel the night before.

He warned her when he was close to climax, and she briefly considered finishing with her hands to avoid what she considered the most unappealing part of the act. But then she remembered how he had used his mouth until she'd reached completion, and how amazing it had felt; she wanted that for him as well.

And in the end, it was a small price to pay for the delicious moans he made as he came.

When she was sure she'd swallowed the last of his release, she started to tug his breeches back up. He assisted her as best he could; she was rather pleased with herself given how difficult it seemed for him to move. But then he was pulling her back up and kissing her within an inch of her life.

As he sucked and nipped and licked and kissed her and _kissed her_ , he shifted them both around, obviously trying to get them into a specific position. She had no idea why, and could hardly _care_ why when she was so lost in his kiss, until she felt his hand between her legs.

She pulled away with a gasp. "Tonight was about _you,"_ she admonished.

"I don't bloody care," he replied roughly.

"That's not fair."

"I haven't lost all my pirate tendencies," he admitted shamelessly as he dragged his fingertips through her arousal. She shivered involuntarily with pleasure, and he grinned. "And pirates take what they want. Unless you truly want me to stop?"

She responded by grabbing his shirt and practically crushing her lips against his. No, it wasn't fair, but she couldn't imagine that he _wouldn't_ be just as talented with his fingers as he was with his mouth. And as he played her expertly, almost like a musical instrument, as she fell apart with his fingers buried inside her, she had to admit that it was perhaps a positive thing that he hadn't lost all of those pirate tendencies.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to know what you think!**

 **I appreciate all of the sweet comments folks have been leaving in their reviews regarding the artwork. I'd encourage you to get in touch with swankkat directly; she's not able to easily see the reviews here, so unless I copy and paste your comments, she doesn't see them. The artwork is just absolutely stunning for every chapter, and she's such a kind, lovely person, so I know she'd appreciate hearing from you!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Content note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.**

* * *

The following day, Emma and Liam gave up all pretense of having a platonic relationship while they were in front of the crew. Rumors were certainly already abounding, and it was unlikely that either she or Liam had been quiet enough the previous two nights to avoid notice. Either way, there were no comments or double takes as she and Liam held hands or put one arm around the other, and if there were any snickers or exchanges of money, the crew kept them hidden.

Free of the stress of the crew's reaction, Emma's thoughts were centered squarely on Liam. Now that they'd started taking pleasure in each other's bodies, she was practically overwhelmed by desire, to the point where it was nearly alarming when she stopped to think about it.

It was hard to reconcile her feelings. Mere days ago, her situation would have been unthinkable; while she found Liam attractive and enjoyed his company, engaging in a tryst with him had been entirely off the table.

And now? She was burning for him. As they sailed, she couldn't stop thinking about his lips against her sex, or his fingers inside of her, or the feel of his manhood in her hands and her mouth. It was all too easy for her fantasies to escalate and leave her imagining what it would feel like to give herself to him, to make love to him.

She tried to remind herself that she could _not_ do that. He was Captain Hook. She was the crown princess. She was Baelfire's widow. She could _not._ No matter how she felt about him, or how amazing he could make her body feel.

Anticipation thrummed through her when Liam called for supper in the late afternoon; he explained that they were close enough to port that they'd arrive first thing in the morning, and that the crew had earned an early night. But the way he looked at her, and with how quickly he ate his supper, she could discern his ulterior motive:

To get to bed as soon as possible.

It was still barely dusk when Liam returned from giving his final nightly orders to the crew after supper. As soon as he'd locked the door behind him, he strode up to her and kissed her fiercely. "I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered roughly.

She moaned softly; her resistance felt like melting ice.

"I want you," he continued.

He was tugging at the laces of her bodice.

"Please, love."

She knew she shouldn't. This was different than before, when they'd used their hands and their mouths, for reasons she couldn't put into words. This wasn't him comforting her, or her reciprocating.

This was the time for her to choose whether or not to give in to her desires.

It was wrong. It was beyond scandalous.

And she wanted it more than anything.

 _Why_ couldn't she have it? Why couldn't she have _him?_

Her entire life had been for others. As princess, she belonged to her people, and she had even married to benefit her parents and kingdom. Now, all she wanted was _Liam_. He was all she wanted, all she was asking for. Was that _really_ so much?

Damn the consequences.

She pushed her chest forward to help him with the laces. It had been ages since she'd been undressed by a man; it was almost surreal watching it happen.

Once the laces were undone, he shrugged off his coat as she pulled the bodice off. Unsure of what to do next, she removed her boots; she caught him eyeing her before following suit. As his hand and her own went to the hem of her shirt, she realized that they were both trembling. She stilled and glanced up at him.

He was breathing heavily, and his pupils were wide. But she could see in his eyes the same trepidation she felt.

What did he have to be anxious about?

She reached up to cup his cheek. "What is it?"

"I—" he stammered a bit. "You're shaking, darling. I apologize for coming on so strong. If—"

"It's just been a long time," she said gently. "It's why I hesitated last night as well. You make me feel like a virgin." She blushed at the admission.

He seemed almost surprised. "I don't mean to make you nervous."

She shook her head. "I'm not _nervous._ Please, Liam." His hand was still hovering at the hem of her shirt, and she wrapped both of her hands around it. "I want you."

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. He kissed her firmly, parting momentarily as he pulled her shirt up and off, and then again to examine her bare breasts. She felt her blush extend down her chest as he stared, and his gaze was so overwhelming that she had to shut her eyes.

And so it was a bit of a surprise when she felt his lips graze one of her nipples, although she was slightly more prepared for his hand to reach up to caress the other breast. Soon, he'd backed her up against the bed, and she was tightly gripping the sheets behind her, trying to maintain her balance in the wake of the sensations.

It was becoming too much to bear, knowing where else he could be using his mouth or hand. "Liam, please," she whispered. "I need—" She gasped as he lightly bit down.

"Tell me what you need, love."

"You. I need you. Please."

"Aye, love."

Together, they removed his vest and shirt, and she dragged her hands through his chest hair as he undid his breeches. Once he was nude, he reached for her trousers, kneeling down as he pulled them off. She thought he was simply being overly dramatic about the gesture, but as soon as she was bare, he pressed his face between her legs.

This time, he was voracious, licking and sucking with abandon. Her knees buckled almost immediately; she was still almost high from the attention he'd paid to her breasts, and the additional pleasure was initially overwhelming. It was good— _so_ good— _better_ than before. She wasn't sure how that was possible, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the man between her thighs.

But as she approached the very edge of her climax, he slowed. His kisses and licks became languid, still stimulating but much less so. "I was …." She was panting too hard to finish her sentence.

"I know," he whispered smugly. "I'm not through with you, not by half."

"What?" she asked shakily.

He responded by kissing upwards, nipping at her stomach and nipples before reaching her lips. She was shocked at the smell and taste of herself; Bae had _never_ dared to kiss her after using his mouth. It was a little thrilling, though, to be experiencing something so un-princess-like.

And then he whispered in her ear: "I am going to _savor_ you, darling. I am going to drink every last drop you can offer me. And by the time I let you come, you will have forgotten your own name."

He chuckled at the strangled moan she made in response before he made his way back down and made good on his promise.

Every time she neared her climax, she was denied; he would slow or still or move away. The worst was when he would adjust his technique so that she could not come, but remained as close as ever.

It might have been hours or days when he finally pushed her over the edge—she couldn't really tell.

When she regained her senses, she found herself lying back on the bed, her legs dangling limply off of it. She didn't even remember how she'd managed to get into that position; last she knew, she'd been standing and merely leaning up against the bed. She pushed herself up weakly and reached for Liam, who'd been kneeling before her. This time, she was prepared to taste herself on his lips.

"I need you," she whispered. He replied with a kiss, and within moments, he was inside of her.

It was as though some wild instinct had taken over her body. She was pure _desire_ somehow, moving with him as though she'd done it hundreds of times, kissing and caressing, panting and moaning, and taking what she wanted.

When she wanted his mouth on her breasts, she leaned back and pressed his head to her chest. When she wanted him deeper, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in. And when she wanted to drive him over the edge, she reached between them until she came undone; he followed immediately.

"That was …" he whispered hoarsely as he slowly pulled out. He kept his arm around her as he braced himself on the bed.

She couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence for him. Incredible? Perfect? Easily the best love-making she'd ever experienced? Something she wanted to do over and over again until she had every movement and every moment memorized?

But he didn't seem to think she needed to answer. Instead, he kissed her gently and helped her off the bed. The sheets were wet where she'd been sitting, soaked from both his earlier attentions and their combined release; he quickly changed them as she cleaned herself up with a towel.

By the time they crawled into bed together, the lassitude that followed intercourse had settled over Emma. She was content to curl up against him and fall asleep, but as she began to drift off, he murmured something into her hair.

"What?" she asked.

"Let me come with you," he repeated.

"What do you mean?"

He pulled away, and as curious as she was about the topic of conversation, she mostly wanted to sleep. "To find your son," he elaborated.

"You're already with me."

He let out a weak laugh, but she could see he was getting a little frustrated with her lack of understanding. "Eventually, you'll arrive at your destination on land," he said. "I could stay behind and wait for you to return, to bring you both back to the Enchanted Forest, but …"

He wanted to come with her to rescue Henry. He wanted to be by her side when she found him, when she saved him.

How was it that she was _this_ fortunate? When she'd arrived at port that day, she'd been desperate just to find someone to take her from one point to another. She'd never expected to find this sort of care or dedication—someone who wanted to be her _partner_ in this endeavor _._

But then again, there was still something about that first day that she still wasn't sure of.

"Will you tell me something?" she asked. Her heart was pounding; for the first time, she might get an answer to the question that he'd so far avoided answering. "I accept," she added, and he relaxed visibly, "but there's something I must know."

"Of course. Anything."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you really helping me?" He sighed heavily and dropped his head back onto the pillow, but she was determined to get a real answer out of him. "Please don't do that. You should have charged me more than you did. And now you want to come with me, even when I no longer need to travel by sea. Please just tell me why."

He looked up at her, and even in the relative darkness, she could see his trepidation.

"I—" he began, but stopped and took a deep breath. "My lost love, she had a son."

Oh. _Oh._

"She spoke of going back for him—when the time was right, she'd always say—but she was too afraid of her husband's wrath. I didn't understand at the time, having been abandoned myself. But clearly, she'd been right to fear him. He killed her for leaving, for daring not to love him; he certainly would have destroyed her for trying to take away his son, too."

 _Baelfire._ He was doing this for Baelfire—because of what had happened. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Liam _hadn't_ taken Milah away from Bae; she and Liam had planned to find him and raise him together. Given what eventually happened with Rumplestiltskin, perhaps going off with Milah and Liam _would_ have been the better option …

… though then Baelfire would have died years ago, his lifespan unaltered by Neverland; she never would have met him or had Henry.

"What—what ever became of the boy?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from cracking under the strain of her emotions. _Finally,_ she might hear the other side of the story she'd been told all her life. "Did he find out what his father did to his mother?"

"He … he ran away from his father. I ended up encountering him shortly after his mother's death, though he didn't know who I was."

Consistent so far, she reasoned, thinking over what she already knew. He continued. "I took him in—he had no home and family, after all—but ..."

"It's okay."

"It's not," he said firmly. "Do you remember what I told you? About the sort of man I was when I was a pirate?"

She tried hard not to tremble. "Yes."

"I was an angry man. The woman I loved with all my heart had been murdered in front of me, and I was ruthless, taking what I pleased and damning the consequences. I wanted her husband to pay for what he'd done to me and to her, and I saw his son as the ultimate path to revenge."

" _Liam."_

"I know. I hid my identity from him, cultivated a relationship with him, taught him about piracy … and before I knew it, I'd stopped thinking of the child as his father's son, but as his mother's. I was ready to abandon my revenge, and raise him properly."

"From your tone, I take it that things went awry," she commented softly. She already knew they had; this was the part of the story where Bae would become incensed in the retelling. Hook had tricked him. Hook had misled him. Hook had used him. Hook had made him believe they could be a family, and then Hook had thrown him away.

"Aye," Liam sighed. "He discovered the truth of my identity, and was able to determine the original reason for my proffered aid. He refused to stay with me."

Yes, that had been true; Bae demanded to be let off the ship, in spite of Hook's selfish pleas. But hearing Liam speak of it, he had been genuine in wishing for Baelfire to stay with him. His voice was choked with emotion as he continued. "Darling, please, I cannot bear to tell you what I did. Please, let me stop my tale here."

"Tell me," she said urgently. She reached out to hold him as best she could while still meeting his gaze. "You must tell me."

"You are a mother," he said insistently. "You would despise me."

"Never." She wished he could know that she already _knew_ what he'd done, that she knew and did not hate him for it, that she just wanted to hear him explain what had happened in his own words.

"I traded him," he whispered. "I sold him. I was so angry that he had rejected me, in favor of a father who didn't deserve his love. I gave him one last chance to accept my love, but I'd already made the arrangements." He was crying freely now. "I sold a child. A child I purported to love."

He had told her the truth. He had admitted it, knowing that she might hate him for it. He had not minced words, nor had he pretended that what he'd done was not as terrible as it was.

And it _was_ terrible.

"Thank you for telling me," she said, continuing to wipe away the tears that were falling steadily.

"How can you bear the sight of me?" he asked bitterly. "How can you stand to even touch me?"

"Do you regret it?"

"With every fiber of my being."

"Do you wish you could change it?"

"Every bloody day."

"And you know it was a dreadful thing?"

With that, he actually pushed her away. "There's no need to rub salt in the wound," he said angrily. "To this day, it is the most monstrous deed I ever committed, and I would give my own life to unmake it."

"Then how could I despise you?" she asked, pulling him back into her arms. "How could I hate you for sharing such an awful piece of your past with me?"

"You cannot mean it."

"Don't tell me what I mean," she said sternly. "I'm a stubborn woman, Liam; I would have pulled the truth out of you eventually. You are still the man you were minutes ago; I simply see another dimension of you."

"One which gives you little cause to love me, I'm afraid."

"Stop that. I wanted the truth, and you gave me what I asked for. Don't apologize for that." She finished cleaning the residual tears from his face using the corner of the sheet. "I cannot absolve you of your sins or offer you forgiveness from the boy you wronged." It wouldn't be her place even if Bae _had_ eventually forgiven Hook, which she knew he had not. "But I can tell you that whatever you fear, you shouldn't. I am still here."

"Thank you," he whispered. "And I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"This isn't about me, or my pathetic history," he said sternly. "This is about your boy. We will find him. I will not let another child be abandoned."

"Thank you." She took in a shaky breath. "And thank you again for telling me."

It was hard to sleep after that; she could tell he was lying awake as well. But at least she finally had the complete story of what had happened all those years ago. Everyone's own perspective had been colored by their own biases, but given Rumplestiltskin's propensity for skewing the truth in his favor, and the fact that much of Baelfire's knowledge of events had come from his father's distorted tales, she was inclined to believe Liam's version of events.

Weeks ago, had someone told her that Captain Hook himself would convince her that she'd been misinformed her entire life, she would have scoffed. But here she was anyway.

Liam's breathing finally became steady, a rhythm she'd now grown familiar with as his sleeping state. She wondered, as she considered the truth, if Liam knew he was helping Bae's own son. But the only way to know would be to ask, and if he didn't know, she would have just revealed the truth anyway.

And she realized, with a choked gasp, something that had never occurred to her:

If he knew who she really was, this—whatever was happening between them—would end.

She'd spent days obsessing over just how wrong it was for her to feel attraction to him, given the ways in which their personal history intertwined. And when she'd finally thrown caution to the wind, she'd only thought about how it no longer mattered to _her_ that he was Captain Hook.

But what about _his_ perspective? To him, Bae had been like a son; if Liam knew that she was Bae's wife, could he ever see _her_ in the same light again?

She knew what this meant—that she cared deeply for Liam, and that after she found Henry, she wanted to return to the Enchanted Forest with him. And that could _never_ happen now; as soon as he learned the truth, he would be disgusted with himself. He would help her, but only for Bae's sake, and then he would leave.

Perhaps he would be even further repulsed by the alliance between her and the Dark One, the man who'd murdered his lover and cut off his hand. She had no deep affection for her father-in-law, but she did not loathe the man either; would Liam view that as her choosing a side? The wrong side?

It was her turn to weep, though she made sure to stay as quiet as possible to avoid waking Liam. She now knew how she should have finished his sentence earlier, when they'd both been at a loss for words to describe their love-making:

A one-time thing.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to know what you think! Please check out swankkat's Tumblr to see the gorgeous artwork and to give her feedback! (There's a link in my profile!)**

 **Additionally, just so folks know, this is the last story I will be posting to FFnet. From now on, all stories will be posted to Tumblr and AO3. Links to both my Tumblr and my AO3 author page are available in my profile; I have the same username on those two sites as I do here. I will not be deleting stories from here for the time being, but there will be nothing new posted.**

 **So if you like my writing, check out my Tumblr or AO3 for new stuff!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**As usual, please check out swankkat's Tumblr to see the beautiful artwork for this story!**

* * *

When Emma woke the following morning, she was alone, and the sun was streaming brightly through the windows of the cabin. She panicked for a moment—she'd heard stories of men who deserted women after a night of passion—before it occurred to her that it was late enough in the morning that Liam would have had to rise and do his duties as the ship's captain. She got out of bed to find that the ship was no longer moving; they must have reached port while she slept.

She dressed quickly before making her way above deck. Did Liam know that she'd fallen asleep in tears the night before? Would he be somewhat withdrawn now that he'd told her what had happened with Baelfire? Or would he be just as open and affectionate as he'd been before? She wasn't sure what to expect.

She would be kept in suspense for a while, it seemed; when she emerged from below deck, Smee found her immediately. "Milady, the captain is going to be busy most of the day running errands. He told me to pass this along to you, along with his apologies, and asked me to tell you that he will meet you at the inn for supper."

"Thank you, Mister Smee." He pressed a sealed scrap of parchment into her hand and nodded before making his way towards some unfamiliar men; they seemed to be assisting in some of the much-needed repairs. She broke the seal and opened the parchment, unsure of what she was going to find, and was surprised to find it rather full of text.

 _Good morning, love. I will be occupied with considerable business for the majority of the day; I'd meant to wake you up so that we could take care of it together, but you seemed to sleep fitfully last night and I wished for you to get some additional rest. You needn't worry about the financials; we can handle that later if you insist._

 _I've selected the Soaring Gull as the most suitable inn for us to stay at, though I have yet to rent a room and will not have a chance the rest of the day. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind taking care of it? I do apologize; it's poor form to ask a lady to make that sort of arrangement. I will strive to make it up to you._

 _Meanwhile, I recommend moving your things to the inn now and finding a distraction until this evening; the marketplace is actually quite substantial, if you are in need of a diversion. Staying on the ship would be unwise; the noise from the construction will grow unbearable very soon._

 _I do have some happy news, though; the men from the local shipyard have informed me that the damage should be repaired within two days. They'll need to work through the night, but I am happy to pay for that service if it gets us back on track sooner (and I will pay it—she is my ship, after all). It looks like we did a better job than we thought handling some of the initial repairs ourselves. We can stay another night or two here if you'd like, but I know how anxious you are to find James. To be honest, I am as well._

 _Finally, regarding last night, because I am incapable of waiting until this evening to make this abundantly clear:_

 _I cannot express how touched I am that you would hear my darkest secret and find it in your heart to still judge me worthy of your trust and affection. What happened in the past will forever haunt me, but in sharing my burden with you, I find myself even more determined to aid you in rescuing your son from his fate. Thank you, love, for giving an old man some purpose in his life. I am every day more grateful that you successfully bribed Smee into ensuring that we'd meet._

She clutched the parchment to her chest and sighed. How could she ever tell him the truth now? He would hate her. He would leave her. It was inevitable.

She shoved the letter to the bottom of her pack; it would be awful if it accidentally fell out and found its way into Regina's hands. Within a few minutes, she had all of her belongings gathered; she made her way down the gangplank and into the bustling harbor town.

She tried to be a little excited; she'd never traveled this far outside of her kingdom before, and it was enjoyable to experience life abroad. The language was still the same at least, with no noticeable accent that would leave her sounding out of place, and while mirrors were obviously not forbidden, they were not as ubiquitous as she'd feared.

Her heart pounded when she realized she was looking into one; she'd been gazing at the thin, brown-haired woman for few moments, mostly in curiosity, before she recognized herself. Growing up without mirrors meant that she really only knew what she looked like based on the portraits that had been painted of her; it was surprising to see what her face looked like when it wasn't frozen on a canvas.

Her cheekbones were more prominent than she'd expected, and she suspected the court painters of softening them on purpose; her hair looked convincingly and naturally brown (and quite flattering, if she was being honest); and she looked entirely normal, as though she belonged in this place.

She resisted the urge to smirk at her reflection, knowing that if Regina _were_ spying, it would be an instant giveaway, and instead made her way to the Soaring Gull. As Liam had indicated, it was a tidy, respectable inn, similar to the one she had stayed in on the first night of her journey, with a nice clean tavern on the first floor. She made her way to the innkeeper.

"I'd like a room for the night."

"Of course, madam—are you with the _Lady Swan?"_ It was a neutral question, one that he was certainly asking due to the presence of other crew members, who were waving at her from a nearby table.

"I am."

"Very good, welcome to our humble little port."

"Thank you."

"Just the one key?"

She felt herself turn scarlet. "Um, two, actually." The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "My husband," she explained. This wasn't the time to discover whether or not unmarried couples were welcome in this establishment.

"Ah, so _you're_ the captain's wife! Some of your men had mentioned you'd be coming along. No need to be embarrassed, Mistress Jones."

"We're newlyweds," she lied, trying to put on what she hoped was a shy-but-dreamy expression. "I'm still so unused to referring to him as my husband."

"I can understand that," he said empathetically. "It took me months to stop slipping up when the missus and I wed; I kept referring to her as the lass I was courting." He pressed two keys into her waiting hand, and accepted three silver pieces in return. "You two've got room number six—I daresay it's our finest one, fit for newlyweds."

"Thank you very much," Emma said quickly, ready to end the conversation. She waved again to the crewmen she spotted (it looked like Thompson and Lawrence were there, along with young Edmund) before heading upstairs to the room to deposit her pack.

The room was, as the innkeeper had promised, quite fine; it was spacious, with two bureaus and a wide bed. To her relief, there were no mirrors present; she and Liam could converse safely in the room without having to worry about Regina overhearing them.

And they could make love with absolute privacy, too.

Her heart rate sped up as she looked at the bed again. Liam's bunk was just _so_ narrow in comparison. What might they be able to do tonight, with this much space? She could just imagine—

But then she remembered—that wasn't something that they could necessarily repeat.

She dropped her belongings to the floor with a sigh before falling backwards on the bed. She'd fallen asleep wallowing in her despair over her circumstances, but she hadn't actually decided what she was going to _do._

Would she tell him the truth, about who she was? How _could_ she, though? She could just imagine the betrayal on his face, the confusion and hurt. He would find out eventually anyway, but maybe for now, she could still have … _this._ Maybe she could just continue on for now as though nothing had changed.

Or would it be better to tell him now, to give him time to process everything, and to give her time to cope with the consequences?

Or maybe she could simply play off the whole affair as something less meaningful than it was, and end everything before she became too invested?

Except it was already too late for that.

She wanted him. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anyone. It was a low bar, to be sure, given her romantic history, but she could feel in her very bones that _this_ was what her parents had experienced all those decades ago. It was what she'd dreamt of feeling, coming to herself and finding that there was someone she could not be without, whose company was more than simply a delight, whose presence in her life felt like a requirement.

She found herself crying again; if this was what her parents had lost forever, then she understood just how broken their hearts must really be.

She _loved_ Liam. She loved Captain Hook.

And she would break his heart when he learned who she really was; and then she would go home with Henry and try to forget.

He _deserved_ to know the truth, especially given the guilt he felt over Baelfire. Right now, he thought he was just helping some random woman's son; he should know he was helping _Baelfire's_ own son. Bae might be gone—he might be beyond healing—but Liam needed to know.

She would tell him—that she was Crown Princess Emma, that she was Bae's widow, that he was helping Bae's son, that she _loved_ him—and maybe he wouldn't leave her.

Maybe—just maybe—he might love her in return, enough for him to withstand the truth of her identity.

She was practically buzzing with anticipation and nerves when suppertime rolled around; she'd managed to secure a small table towards the back of the inn's tavern, with the crew sitting almost protectively around her. When she'd finally grown worried that perhaps something had happened, Liam finally stepped through the door, a pack of his own over his shoulder; the crew gave a rousing cheer, and she felt her heart race even faster.

And then she felt cold.

He was smiling, but his smile was sad and hollow; he approached her, still maintaining the expression. "Sorry I'm late, love. Did you have an enjoyable day?"

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he insisted. It was a bald-faced lie. "May I have a key to our room?" She handed one off to him, and he disappeared with his belongings. When he returned a few minutes later, his face was still twisted with that same expression.

"Are you still upset about what you told me last night?" she asked as he sat. A barmaid stopped by to ask if they wanted stew or pie; Liam seemed to freeze at the question, so Emma quickly ordered the former for both of them.

As the barmaid turned to leave, Liam quickly grabbed at her arm. "A flagon of wine, if you'd please, lass."

"Are you?" Emma repeated.

"Of course not," he replied. It was hard to tell if he was being truthful; whatever had him upset was bleeding into his entire manner, coloring every syllable and expression. "Did you not read my note?"

"Of course I did." Except that the note had sounded like him; free and easy, intense and honest. Not agitated and guarded.

"Nothing's wrong, love." The wine arrived with two goblets, and he filled each before raising one towards her. "Here's to nothing but good news."

The conversation was strained as the evening continued, and Emma was shocked at how much wine Liam was drinking. He finished nearly the entire flagon on his own by the time they were halfway through their meal, and soon, he was slurring his speech.

"Will you please tell me what's going on?" she asked angrily, giving up on her stew altogether. "It's actually offensive that you would insist everything is fine when it's obviously not."

"Perhaps this isn't the sort of conversation that's easy to have," he replied, draining his goblet yet again.

"Even after last night?"

"We can discuss this later," he said firmly. "For now, I'd like to enjoy myself."

She bristled—he had clearly insinuated that he wasn't enjoying her company, and she found herself insulted—but it wasn't worth replying. Liam was inebriated, and there was nothing she could do about the situation. She huffed angrily and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, and waited for him to finish filling his blood with alcohol.

Soon, the tavern began to grow rowdy with the local riffraff, and the other crew members disappeared, opting for sleep. Deciding that it was time for her to make an exit as well, she began to drag the intoxicated captain with her; fortunately the innkeeper was around to assist.

"Bad luck," he said sympathetically.

"Already had our wedding night," she reassured him. "It's fine."

"Ah, well, that's a relief at least."

Once they were all were across the threshold of the room, the innkeeper left, and she managed to finish dragging Liam to the bed. As she locked the door, she considered whether or not she should try to undress him, finally reasoning that she might break one of her limbs trying to force off the heavy black overcoat. Instead, she pulled off her boots and bodice, resolving to sleep mostly dressed in her shirt and trousers, and fell down on the bed beside him.

So much for telling him the truth tonight. She felt like a fool, and her face burned with embarrassment and anger. She was embarrassed that she would have to put off her confession, which, even if the delay weren't voluntary, made her feel like a coward. She was angry that he wouldn't simply tell her what was wrong.

"I'm sorry." His voice, muffled by the pillow, startled her and she gasped.

"I thought you were unconscious!" She took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart and turned to face him. He hadn't moved; he was still lying face down where she'd manage to deposit him. "Liam, please tell me what's wrong."

"I want to be worthy. I just don't know how." His voice sounded so small and broken.

"You _are_ worthy." Whatever he was talking about, he _was_ worthy _._ She _knew_ he was. It was why she had to tell him the truth, why he _deserved_ the truth.

"There's no right answer," he continued. "No right path. No good form. How can I do what's right when _nothing_ is right?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her heart ached. "I don't know how to help."

"You can't. There's nothing that can. I was a fool to think anything could change."

"Please tell me. _Please."_

"I'm sorry." And then he said no more.

She slept poorly, unable to make sense of the horrible evening. She woke constantly, fearful that Liam had stopped breathing during the night, and only able to fall back asleep each time once she checked his heartbeat.

She awoke in the morning to find Liam changed into fresh attire and squaring away his pack. "Good morning, love." The strain in his voice was lessened but not gone; he sounded resigned.

She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Are you going to tell me what happened last night?"

"Aye," he replied. When he turned to face her, she could see sadness in his eyes. "But first, I'd like to check on the ship. Will you accompany me?"

"Fine," she replied as she dressed. She knew she was being a little sulky, but she felt justified given his inexplicably atrocious behavior the previous evening. "Shall we?"

They returned to the _Lady Swan_ in silence. It was warmer than either of them had expected; by the time they arrived at the ship, she'd removed her cloak and he'd slung his overcoat over his shoulder. He quickly checked in with the foreman for an update on the repairs, but there was no joy or satisfaction in his expression as he was informed of the excellent progress that had been made. He simply thanked the man for his crew's hard work, and gestured for Emma to follow him to his cabin.

"All right, then" she said angrily as she flung her cloak on the bed. "Are you going to _finally_ tell me what's going on?"

"Yes," he said solemnly as he calmly draped his coat on his chair. He looked as though he were about to sit, but instead, he braced himself on the chair and sighed. "And I apologize for my behavior. Something has happened that I should have anticipated, but I failed to."

"Well, what is it then?" Her fists were clenched so hard, she could feel her nails biting into the skin of her palms.

He took a deep breath and stared down at the table.

"Your Highness, Regina knows we're on our way."

Emma had wondered a few times over the course of her journey how it might feel to fail. Those moments, though, had been brief; she would find herself having trouble breathing, and then she would force herself to think of anything else.

Now it was happening full force: the realization that she had failed. She felt frozen to the spot, almost as if by magic. Regina knew she was coming and would now be prepared.

No, wait. She hadn't failed; just this _plan—this_ particular _plan_ had failed. She could feel herself shifting, from Ruth, the mother determined to find her son, back to Emma, the princess and politician faced with a crisis.

She stared at Liam, who was now looking up at her with a solemn and guarded expression, and the previous evening suddenly snapped into perfect clarity. Obviously, Regina (or, more likely, someone in her employ) had confronted him and revealed the true nature of his mysterious passenger.

So of _course_ he was upset, especially last night. She had lied to him. She'd misrepresented herself. And, worse, she was Bae's widow. She tried not to let her face crumble as it occurred to her how disgusted he must now be, and how much he must regret having even touched her.

She deserved his scorn. It didn't matter now anyway; she was Princess Emma again, faced with a problem, and she had to focus on that.

"Did she speak to you directly?" she asked slowly.

Liam clenched his jaw in spectacular fashion before he replied, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. "No. She sent the Dark One, whose dagger she holds. He intercepted me yesterday as I was on my way to the inn to meet you."

She didn't want to think about that, that moment he'd stepped into the inn and met her gaze and everything had begun to fall apart. "And what exactly did he tell you?"

"That Henry is safe and alive." Her heart beat rapidly in relief. He was _alive._ He was _safe._ She could still rescue him. She just needed a new plan.

But his next words were less of a relief:

"And that if we were to continue on, your life would be forfeit."

Of course. Shortly after the kidnapping, her family and advisors all agreed that Regina's reason for leaving Emma alive was likely to force her to experience the suffering of losing her child. But now that Emma was threatening her plan and perhaps her life, Regina no longer cared if Emma suffered or died. And it didn't matter that Regina herself couldn't kill her; she could just force Rumplestiltskin to do it, or one of her guards.

But she wasn't about to simply give up. She would need the element of surprise again. She still had her magic, which Regina hopefully still didn't know about. She simply had to find another way to get to Henry.

However, she would have to leave Liam behind. Only a day ago, the thought of continuing without him would have been laughable. But it was too late now. Whatever they had was now gone.

"All right," she said, pleased to find that her voice was steady. "Thank you for taking me this far, Captain."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I appreciate the help you've given me. And—actually, I'd be happy to pay you to take a decoy with you when you turn around."

He furrowed his brows and looked quite alarmed. "A decoy?"

"To throw Regina off my trail," she explained.

"Wait, no," he said, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to split up?"

"She knows you're helping me,"she said firmly. "So yes, we need to part ways. Besides, I know you'd prefer that." She didn't mean to sound as bitter as she did.

"What on this beautiful earth would lead you to believe that I would _ever_ want to leave your side?" he asked, almost angrily, his jaw set resolutely.

She stared at him, unable to keep her mouth from dropping open slightly. "What?"

"Have I not made it clear that I intend to complete this journey _with_ you?" he asked, voice full of disbelief. "That I care for you deeply? Do you think that it means nothing to me that we made love?"

"But, last night," she protested, baffled that he didn't seem to think anything had changed. "Clearly, my identity distresses you. I—I'm sorry I lied to you—you _have_ to understand _why—"_

To her surprise, he looked stunned at her words. "You—you think I'm upset that you hid your identity?"

"Well, _yes._ I'm not Ruth. I'm not the person you thought I was." Though her newly reawakened princess instincts screamed at her to continue to meet Liam's gaze, she instead stared down at her boots. Not only had some of her worse fears been realized in a few short minutes, but now they were discussing her deception. She couldn't bear to look at his face.

The floorboards creaked as he stepped towards her; she looked up at him as he placed his hand and wrist on her upper arms.

"You might not be Ruth, but you are exactly who I've always thought you were." He reached to brush her hair from her face and then caressed her cheek. "I knew who you were from the moment you first stepped foot in this cabin."

There was a roar in her ears.

He'd known.

The entire time she'd been aboard the _Lady Swan_ , Liam had _known_ he was escorting Crown Princess Emma. She'd wanted to tell him the truth, but he'd known all along. He had _always_ been helping because he'd wanted to help Henry.

"So why," Liam continued, as if he hadn't just said something incredibly momentous, "would your true identity change anything?"

Crown Princess Emma was not known for her tact; she was known for decisive and immediate action. If she was pressed to, she could sit and mull over exactly what to say, as opposed to simply blurting out her initial reaction.

In response to Liam's question, she knew that an appropriate reply would be subtle and kind while also making the truth plain. She could make a reference to how she knew now that he'd been doing everything for Baelfire, or she could smile gently and make a clever quip about how he wasn't the only one who was perceptive about secret identities.

But again, Emma was not known for her tact.

"Because you're Captain Hook," she blurted out.

He blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I know," she said guiltily. "I saw your tattoo and then I went through your things and found the hook. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have, it was entirely uncalled for."

"Wait, wait." His hand fell from her cheek and his eyes narrowed. "You've known nearly the entire voyage? Why did you stay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your husband—he must have loathed me to the end of his days. Knowing who I am, and what I did to him ..." He shook his head in disbelief and backed away, running his hand through his hair. "I can't understand how you can even bear the sight of me, let alone share a bed with me."

"How can you share one with _me?"_ she asked, and he looked at her in confusion. "He was like a son to you—and given your relationship with my father-in-law—"

"I admit, it hasn't been easy for me to accept my feelings. I tried very hard to remind myself of who you were, and how you would react to my identity if you found out I was Hook." He stepped towards her again, and tentatively lifted his arms; when she moved into him, he wrapped them around her, and she shuddered with the weight of the emotions she was trying to process. "But I couldn't fight it any longer—I didn't _want_ to. And now, knowing that you _knew?_ That I had nothing to fear?"

He took a deep, shaky breath. _"Emma."_ Hearing him _finally_ say her name was too much; the tears she'd been holding back began to roll down her cheeks. "Emma, I am _so_ in love with you."

"And I with you," she managed to choke out. "Gods, I'm so sorry." She gracelessly rubbed at her face with her sleeve. "I'm crying like a child."

He chuckled and tightened his arms around her. She breathed in his scent, not quite believing that in one moment, everything had changed so dramatically. "Well, my love, thanks to my appalling behavior last night, you hardly slept, and then I broke some unfortunate news to you moments ago. I'd say a few tears are understandable."

 _My love._ He loved her. Would she ever get used to this monumental feeling? "That's true," she said, her words muffled by his shirt. She pulled back and gave him a watery smile. "So, what do we do?"

"My darling princess, I am entirely yours to command."

She cupped his cheek. "If I asked you to continue on, to ignore the Dark One's warning, would you do it?"

He swallowed, but nodded. "I would, if you asked it of me."

No deception; he would take her to her death if she asked him to, all the while certainly trying to find a way to protect her.

"I don't know what to do, then," she admitted, "because I cannot ask that of you, but turning around is not an option either."

"Then let us rest here," he said gently. "We still have time. The Dark One was clear—Regina has not harmed your son. Let us rest and think of a new plan."

"Together?"

"Aye. Together. You and me, love. If you'll have me."

Her tears spilled freely down her face again, and he wiped them away with his thumb. "I'll have you if you'll have me."

"Always," he said, before kissing her.

And when he did, she felt magic come alive within her, bursting outwards in an exhilarating rush, just as it had the day in the hospital when she'd broken the curse on Henry, and she broke from Killian's lips with a gasp.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think!**

 **This is another reminder that this will be the final story I post to FFnet. For new stories, please check out my Tumblr or my AO3 page; I have links in my profile to each.**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_Massive author's note and disclaimer:_ I rarely have author's notes in my stories, but from this point on in the story, there has to be one.**

 **If it wasn't clear from the last paragraph of the previous chapter, this story was canon divergence masquerading as an Enchanted Forest AU. I'd actually finished the story before the start of season 6, and while I'd been trying to keep up with canon events, I had to call it a day somewhere. This story is canon through 6x08, and that's it.**

 **Additionally, I have been 100% spoiler-free and speculation-free for season six. Nothing that occurs in this story is based on spoilers.**

 **Thank you for your patience! And as usual, please visit swankkat on tumblr to check out the artwork for this chapter and to give her feedback and props!**

 ** _Content note:_ This chapter contains mild sexual content.**

* * *

"Swan?"

"Killian? Oh my _god."_

He was staring at her in shock. Before she could ask him what was going on, she was assaulted by memories.

All of them.

Foster care. Neal. Henry. Storybrooke. Her parents. Regina. _Killian._ Neverland. Camelot. The Underworld. The Evil Queen.

The aftermath—

* * *

"How is this even possible?" Emma asked in disbelief, staring at Robin. When Regina had asked everyone to come to her house for her to merge back together with the Evil Queen, she'd mentioned a surprise. But this had _still_ been the last thing Emma had expected.

"I've been asking the same question for the past hour," Regina admitted, hastily wiping at her face. Even the Evil Queen looked a little emotional; that made some sense, since they were the same person.

"I think I've answered part of the question." Belle stuck her head into the doorway of the living room. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Regina said.

Belle was carrying a heavy book, no small feat given that she also had Gideon in a baby carrier. Emma grabbed the book from her; it smelled a little moldy. "Oh, thank you. Anyway, uh, it sounds like Hades wasn't entirely correct about how the Olympian Crystal functions. Either that, or he couldn't have predicted what would happen once it was used to destroy him."

"How could he have been wrong?" the Evil Queen asked. It was a little weird, having the Evil Queen around as an ally and not an enemy.

"Yeah, I mean, I _saw_ Robin's spirit disintegrate," Regina protested. Robin winced.

"I know," Belle replied. "I think it went into the crystal."

"What?"

"This book mentions the crystal, or at least something like it," she continued. "Souls of those it's slain are what power it. That the souls ceased to be was a misunderstanding because those souls never made it to the Underworld or the afterlife. But they were just in the crystal, not _gone."_

"Then how come Hades is still gone?" Zelena asked. Emma cringed at the mix of emotions in her voice; having to kill your boyfriend was the _worst._ Before Belle could attempt an answer, Zelena just shook her head. "Never mind. I don't want to think about it."

Belle nodded and continued. "Well, I think that everything that happened to the remaining crystal must have done something to it and disrupted its magical make-up. And then Regina, once you accepted yourself—once each half accepted the other—that may have done the rest and allowed Robin's spirit to move to the afterlife."

At that, the Evil Queen smiled, and Regina began to cry again.

"My darling, it's all right." Robin grasped her hand.

"Okay," Emma said slowly. "But how are you _back?_ I'm not unhappy about it!" she added quickly, not wanting to sound like she was bummed out. "I just … Killian didn't have a body to return to, and that was kind of a big problem."

But Robin just shook his head. "Right now, I just want to focus on being alive," he said. "But I am glad to hear that I wasn't the only one who enjoyed such a spectacular return."

"Aye." Emma nearly snapped her neck as she turned towards Killian's voice. He was standing in the doorway, smiling, having just arrived. "Good to have you back, mate."

"And I'm glad to see our journey to rescue you wasn't in vain," Robin replied, grinning as well. Killian approached him for a handshake before the two of them opted for a hug instead.

"I hate to ruin the mood," Snow said, "but if we're all here, I think it's time that we get Regina restored to her rightful self."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Regina said.

"As am I," the Evil Queen agreed.

The Dragon, who had been politely standing off to the side during the commotion, stepped forward. "The process is deceptively simple," he explained. "You must clasp your other self's hands and let your magic flow through each other. You must focus on your feelings of acceptance and love for yourself."

"How is that 'deceptively' simple?" David asked. "Sounds … regular simple."

"There's a price, isn't there?" the Evil Queen asked.

The Dragon nodded. "A steep cost, for two prices must be paid: the price of separation and the price of reconciliation."

"But Jekyll and Hyde didn't pay a price," Henry said. "They just separated and that was it."

"There _was_ a price," Belle said sadly. "They're both dead."

"Oh. Right."

"Well, what's the price?" Emma asked. After the whole Dark One mess, she liked to know what she was dealing with, price-wise.

"This all began because Regina wanted to rid herself of the Evil Queen," the Dragon said. "The price she must pay is to not simply accept that part of herself, but to let it consume her."

"Wait," Regina said, stepping away from the Evil Queen. "I don't want that."

"Neither do I," the Evil Queen added. "Hasn't that been the entire point of this? That we can exist as one person, in balance?"

"And you may, if you can survive the price you must pay," the Dragon replied. "The only other option is to continue to exist in this state, living half a life."

The Reginas glanced at each other anxiously.

"Regina," Robin said, holding his hands out to each of them. "I believe you will succeed. I _know_ you will." He leaned in and said something too softly for Emma to actually hear it, but whatever it was made both halves of Regina give him watery smiles. He squeezed their hands tightly before dropping them and taking a few steps back to give them space.

"Okay," Regina said shakily. "Let's do this." The Evil Queen nodded.

They reached out for each other's hands and closed their eyes. For a moment, nothing happened.

And then everything went fuzzy.

And Crown Princess Emma had woken up alone in her bed, as she had every morning since Baelfire had died.

* * *

Now it all made sense. Her feelings for Liam—for _Killian_. Her innate knowledge of sailing. Her strange dreams.

It had been Emma Swan hiding inside Princess Emma. Emma Swan, with all of her history and experience and fears and feelings.

It had been the truth, bleeding through the lies.

"Holy _shit."_

"Bloody hell, Swan."

"So _this_ was the price?" she asked, trying to keep calm and mostly failing. "How was _this_ the price?"

"I've no idea." He ran his hand over his face. "Absolutely not a bloody, buggering clue."

"Wait, if we just had True Love's Kiss, then shouldn't that have … _fixed_ everything?" He shrugged. "Shit. Just … shit."

"What if we're the only ones who remember?" he asked.

She paused. She hadn't thought about that. To be fair, she hadn't been able to think a lot about anything except that they'd been cursed again or _something,_ but she was herself again and he was Killian again, and how the _hell_ had this all happened?

When the Dragon had said that Regina would be consumed by the Evil Queen or whatever, Emma had expected that she'd be dealing with the same Regina she'd met that first night in Storybrooke. Or maybe the Regina she'd encountered during Ingrid's curse. Or hell, maybe even just the Evil Queen the serum had created. Just _Regina_ changing.

Not _this._ Not waking up and believing she'd lived an entirely different life.

"Swan?"

She looked up at Killian. _Killian._ But this was more than just false memories; false memories didn't explain how Killian had become thirty years older. Or why, even though they remembered now, he was _still_ thirty years older.

"Swan, love, are you with me?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "Yeah. What were you saying?"

"What if we're the only ones who remember?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," she said. Her brain started to work again—they could figure out the _why_ of the situation later. She could panic more later. Right now, she was with Killian, and they _remembered_ , and it was time to find out who else did, too. "I've gotta get a mirror."

He blanched. "Is that such a good idea? If Regina doesn't have her memories back, it'll give us away."

"She already knows where we are, right?"

"Aye, but not that you have magic."

"Then I'll deal with that later."

He sighed. "Very well. I'll see if any of my crew remembers; Starkey and Smee were both in Storybrooke with us, so it's likely they've regained their memories as well."

"Okay. Oh, wait, there's something I need to do first."

"What's that?"

"This." She grabbed the lapels of his shirt and kissed him fiercely. He responded with a pleased hum, gripping her tightly around the waist.

It didn't matter that they'd managed to kiss a few times while cursed; it was _him_ now, and she was _herself,_ and this was more than just Ruth and Liam sharing a tender moment after admitting their new love for each other. This was her and Killian—her _person,_ her partner, her True Love, the person who would die for her, and for whom she would give up her own life.

So it was just a _little_ more meaningful to be kissing him now.

"All right," he said, breaking the kiss after a few very, very nice moments. "We both have tasks to complete. Now, I'll see you when you return, aye?"

"Aye aye."

It was really weird leaving the ship to go back into the marketplace. The _Jolly Roger_ hadn't changed all that much with this new curse—was it a curse?—besides getting renamed something less _piratey._ Regaining her memories in Killian's cabin hadn't been that much of a shock to the senses. But being out and about again with her memories intact was wacky.

It wasn't like Crown Princess Emma was in her head _talking_ or anything, but there were still thirty-odd years of princess memories jumbled up with her real ones. It was weird to observe the scene and think about how normal everything looked, while _nothing_ was actually normal.

Purchasing a mirror only took a few minutes, although she was a little embarrassed over the one she found. She hadn't been expecting to be able to just buy a small piece of mirror, and she had plenty of cash to burn, but the ornate pewter hand mirror felt like it was _way_ too much, aesthetically and cost-wise. Carrying it back to the ship, clutched in one hand, she felt ridiculous.

Killian, who was wearing his hook once more, was deep in conversation with someone who appeared to be the foreman of the construction crew they'd hired, so she just waved at him before heading back to the cabin. With her memories returned, it took no time or effort to stare into the mirror and summon her magic.

The first thing she saw was a richly decorated bedroom. On the bed, head in her hands, was Regina.

"Regina?" The woman's head shot up at the sound. "Sorry, I don't know what mirror I'm in."

She'd forgotten for a second that Regina might not have her memories back, and the apology might sound completely nonsensical. She felt a wave of apprehension pass through her; what if Killian had been right? What if Regina didn't remember anything, and Emma had just let on that she had magic?

But instead, Regina wiped at her face hastily and rushed over to wherever the mirror was. "Oh, thank _god!"_ Emma sagged with relief at the tone of her voice. "How do we remember?"

"Uh, well, things got pretty emotional over here when Killian told me about—"

"Right, _Killian,"_ Regina said quickly and a little bitterly. "I got it."

"Is everyone okay?"

It was clearly the wrong question to ask. Regina's face darkened considerably, and her features grew stony. "Well, let's see, shall we? I kidnapped Henry. I used the dagger to control Gold—I'm sure you remember how much he enjoys _that._ I imprisoned Belle for thirty years. Oh, _and_ her son! Gold sure is pleased about that. So, you tell me—do you _think_ everyone's okay?"

"Regina, it's _okay,_ it wasn't you!"

"But it _was_ me!" she shouted. "Don't you get it? This is what the Dragon meant! I had to let my darkness consume me, and I did!"

"But he said you just had to survive it—look, we can argue over this later, okay?" Despondent, melodramatic Regina was Emma's least favorite Regina, even compared to the Evil Queen. "We need to figure out how to get back home."

"I don't know how."

"I know, just—let's regroup, okay? Where the hell are you anyway?"

"Maybe six or seven leagues south from where you were when the storm hit."

"Really?" Emma moved over to the table and pulled out the nautical charts. "Regina, I'm still not great at reading these, but there's nothing there."

"I know, I made an island. I've practically exhausted my magic to maintain it; I've had to use Gold's magic for almost everything else."

"Wait, how did you know about the storm?" Regina winced. "Oh, come on, seriously?"

"Well, some of Hook's crew talked! I just—never mind."

"Okay, well, should we come get you, then?"

"Get us?"

"I don't know, I guess I just assumed we'd go back to the Enchanted Forest and reconvene."

Regina sighed. "I guess we should. I'll see if Gold can magic us all back."

"In that case, maybe we'll just sail back. We're a few days from you and we can't leave until the repairs are done. I don't know how long it'll take us to get back, but I'm sure it'll be better for Belle if she has some space from Gold. She's not gonna get that on the ship with him, close quarters and stuff."

"You can't just magic the ship back?" Regina asked skeptically.

"I don't think so. Maybe if it was just the two of us, but we can't leave the crew behind." Even if her magical knowledge had been expanded from her experience as the Dark One, her magic itself was back to where it was beforehand. She totally knew _how_ to use it to repair the _Jolly Roger_ and transport it, the crew, and themselves back to the Enchanted Forest, but it wasn't something she had the juice for without the Darkness.

"Well, I'll talk to Gold I guess."

"Okay. I'll talk to my parents. Hopefully they'll have gotten hold of a mirror by now. At least, I assume if you remember, they do as well."

"Safe assumption. All of us remember—except the baby, although he's not a baby anymore."

"That's really weird."

"Obviously."

"Give Henry a hug for me?"

Regina gave her a tight-lipped, watery smile. "I will."

"Regina?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll fix this, you know. We always do. And you know … I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm not mad at you."

Regina sighed. "Thanks."

Once Regina's face faded from the mirror, Emma concentrated on contacting her parents. Unfortunately, the mirror stayed misty, which meant they hadn't gotten their hands on a mirror yet. Either their memories hadn't returned, or (more likely, Emma assumed) it was taking longer for them to get a mirror. It wasn't like those were plentiful in the kingdom; a lot of people wouldn't be caught dead with one.

There was a knock at the cabin door. "Yeah?" she asked, before wincing. If that wasn't Killian, then her demeanor might raise some questions. Fortunately, it _was_ Killian.

"Any luck?"

"Regina's memories are back," she explained. "I think everyone else's are, too. I forgot she had Belle imprisoned." Killian blanched. "What?"

"I knew she was," he admitted. "That was … one of the times I tried to kill her."

"Oh, right." She remembered that conversation, way back when Killian and Belle had started becoming friends. Wow, that felt like _years_ ago. "She seems to have mostly forgiven you at least."

"And your parents?" he asked, changing the subject.

She shook her head. "I'll try them again in a bit. Meanwhile, Regina is going to see if Gold can poof them back to the Enchanted Forest. Long story, but she can't do it herself."

Killian shrugged. "Well, the news regarding the ship is positive, at least. We should be ready to set sail by midday tomorrow. If we travel non-stop, and perhaps have some magical assistance from you, we can be back at your parents' castle within a week."

Princess Emma would have been shocked at that estimate, just as she'd been shocked at the good time they'd been making the entire journey south. But Princess Emma hadn't known that she was aboard the _Jolly Roger,_ the fastest ship in the realms, made from enchanted wood.

"I think I can manage that. If that's where we're all going, I guess." She sighed. "Regina was really upset."

"I can imagine. I assumed that the price would be unpleasant; I just hadn't expected _this."_

"Yeah, I guess." She sighed again. "All right, so we're sailing back. What are we going to tell the crew?"

"Smee and Starkey both have their memories, and they're the other two most senior members of the crew. If the three of us seem to think nothing of sailing back to your kingdom, the rest of the crew will fall in line."

"That's good. So, what now?"

"The three of us will track down the rest of the crew so they know we're setting sail tomorrow. Meanwhile, perhaps you can try to contact your parents again, and then if you could, we need to order supplies for the return journey. I'd meant to do that yesterday, but I spent most of the day arranging repairs. Do you remember how to do it, or shall I take care of it?"

"It's fine, I remember. But …"

"What is it, love?"

"Are you sure you don't want to … you know ..." She slid one arm around his waist and pressed herself up against him. "Do something _else_ before we get to work?"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, love."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, I mean, I suppose I'm not entirely opposed to parenthood, but last we discussed it, you weren't ready for another child."

"Wha—oh." _Right._ Princess Emma had been worried about pregnancy before finally deciding it was worth the risk. But in this world, Henry had been planned. Expected, even. And when she and Killian had talked about birth control, she'd made it clear: she wasn't sure she was ever going to want more children, but that if she did, she wanted to make that decision, and not have it just happen by accident. They'd already had unprotected sex once now, so she might already be in trouble, but she wasn't about to increase the odds.

"Well, there are … other things we could do." She trailed her hand down his arm and then over to his crotch; he was already half-hard. "With my memories back, I'm pretty sure I can put that other blowjob to shame."

"Mmm. I'm afraid now wouldn't be the best time, love. You need to speak with your parents as soon as possible, and I can't rule out the possibility that Starkey or Smee will come looking for me."

"Oh, come _on,"_ she said. "We need to make up for last night."

"Swan, please." He disentangled himself and kissed her on the forehead before readjusting his pants. "I'll be back within the hour. Give your parents another try." He smiled before heading back above deck.

What was up with him? They'd just broken a curse with True Love's Kiss. How was it that he didn't want to jump her as badly as she wanted to jump him?

She shook her head and grabbed the mirror again. This time, the mist cleared, and her mother's worried face appeared in the center of the glass. "Emma!"

"Hey, Mom, is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, we just got off the 'phone' with Regina." She used air quotes. "It sounds like Gold's going to poof them here. She said you were with Killian?"

"Yeah, we're on the _Jolly Roger_. Or, I'm _sorry_ , the _Lady Swan."_

"Oh, that's priceless."

"I know. I think it'll maybe take us a week to get back, but I don't have the kind of power necessary to poof the whole ship."

"That's okay. We'll hold the fort down for a week and start figuring out what to do."

"Yeah, but it's … a whole week."

"I know." Snow frowned. "I'll do what I can to keep Regina from losing it. I know she's prone to …"

"Melodramatics?"

"Well, sure, if you want to put it _that_ way."

"Are you all okay? I know you wanted me to try to get in touch, but I really couldn't."

"That's okay—you know that's okay." Snow signed. "We're … mostly okay. Neal's frustrated because he has no memories of Storybrooke. He believes us, but he's not handling it well—I mean, the fact that he's really only six months old."

"I hadn't even thought about that. Gideon must be frustrated, too."

"I can't even imagine."

"What about you and Dad, though?"

"We're okay. I just … I can't believe how much this affected us. It's a little scary to think that Regina ended up achieving her goal, you know? Separating us?"

"I don't know," Emma said. "I just—it wasn't real. I know that, and I know you do, too."

"Yeah," Snow said, with a heavy sigh. "I do. And you and Killian, you're both okay?"

"Yeah."

"Emma."

"What?"

"I know that tone. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing."

"You don't want to know."

"You're right. Of course I wouldn't want to know why my daughter is upset."

"Mom, _really."_

" _Really."_

"Okay, fine!" She sighed. "Look, let's pretend for a second that when the original curse broke, you didn't immediately have to deal with reuniting with me, or handling angry townsfolk going after Regina. What would you guys have done?"

"Me and your father?" Snow frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. I guess …" She blushed suddenly. "Okay, I know what we would have done."

"What would you think if Dad didn't want to?"

Snow snorted, and Emma regretted not ending the magical phone call sooner. But then her mother seemed to realize the actual problem. "So he's not in the mood. It happens."

"Yeah, I know … I guess I'm just confused. We had a rough night last night, and I'm just … I guess I just need him."

"You know what the solution is, right?"

She groaned. "Be an adult and talk about it?"

"Yep. Oh, I think they're here."

"Who?"

"Henry, Regina—that whole contingent."

"Okay. Get them squared away, I guess. We need to get ready for tomorrow morning; the ship should be repaired by then."

"Repaired? What happened?"

"Bad storm. Long story. Say hi to Dad for me—and Neal."

"I will, and I'll try. Neal won't talk to us right now."

"Oh boy."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

The mist rolled back in, and when it cleared, Emma could only see her own face—though it was weird seeing her hair brown instead of blonde. She thought about turning it back, but—well, the crew would probably be asking enough questions as it was already.

As she hopped off the gangplank to make her way to a general store to buy supplies, she nearly collided with Killian. "Hey, how did it go?"

"Fine, still tracking down a few men," he explained. "I'm going to try to assist with the rest of the repairs; there are still a few things I'd prefer to handle myself."

"Yeah. I talked with my mom—everyone else is already back now, so they're just waiting on us."

"That's good news, I suppose. You're off to purchase supplies?"

"Yeah, wanna come with?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, love. As I said, I'd like to stay here and get some work done. I'll meet you at the inn before supper."

"All right, well, good luck. See you at the inn." She leaned in to kiss him. He didn't pull back, but unlike during their earlier kiss, there was some serious hesitation. What was _up_ with him?

There was no time to have the talk that she promised her mom she'd have, though. Ordering supplies would take time, since everything had to be delivered to the ship and loaded on. They'd just have to talk later.

Order supplies went pretty smoothly; it was nice to know exactly how much they needed, since she actually _knew_ how long they'd be traveling for. She also figured she'd treat the crew to as much fresh food as possible, to make up for the weird turn of events.

She also did some personal shopping—realizing they'd been cursed (well, _had_ they been cursed? Was the price a curse? Magic was ridiculous) made her feel entitled to treat herself a bit. Her traveling clothes were comfortable, but she'd been wearing the same two sets of clothing for weeks. _Weeks._ Some new duds were in order.

In addition to new traveling clothes, she also bought what passed for lingerie in fairytale land. She thought it looked a little ridiculous and not _that_ sexy, but her princess knowledge told her she'd purchased something scandalous.

Back at the inn, the innkeeper was more than happy to send a bath up to her room and have it filled with hot water (to be fair, she gave him a few extra coins first). Within an hour, Emma was happily scrubbing away way more dirt than she'd ever want to admit, using some fine soap she'd picked up during her shopping spree.

She could not _wait_ to get back to Storybrooke, where she could take a real shower. At least this wasn't as bad as Isaac's alternate universe, when she'd been stuck in that tower for what felt like two years. Poor Henry had some trouble keeping his nose from scrunching up in disgust, she'd been so dirty.

Once she was clean and toweled off, and some scullery maids came to retrieve the tub, it was still much too early for supper, and she was pretty bored. And _tired;_ she'd slept really badly, since Killian had been so drunk and she'd been so worried about him. Hopefully he'd be done dealing with the ship soon. Depending on how early he got back, they could …

Her mother had said she should actually _talk_ to Killian, but there was no reason she couldn't talk to him while dressed in something besides traveling clothes, right? Sure, maybe she was trying to tip the scales in her favor, but he'd always liked it when she engaged in a little bit of pirate-like behavior.

Dressing up in Enchanted Forest lingerie was a little weird, but it was actually a little less uncomfortable than some of the modern stuff she'd worn before. She shifted around a bit on the bed until she felt she was in what would be considered a seductive position, making sure her cleavage was as prominent as possible. Staring at the door, she could imagine him stepping through and eyeing her with curiosity and lust. Or, she thought a little wryly, consternation and hesitation, given his earlier reactions. But hopefully the former.

She must have drifted off—damn sleep deprivation—because the next thing she knew, Killian was sitting on the bed beside her, gently shaking her awake. "Love? Sorry to disrupt your nap, but it's nearly time for supper."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"There's no need to apologize, especially since it was my ungentlemanly behavior that kept you from a good night's sleep." He furrowed his brows. "What are you wearing?"

Right, the lingerie. "Just a little something that I picked up today. I was thinking maybe you could engage in a different kind of ungentlemanly behavior." She sat up and pushed her chest forward a bit, and hiked up the hem of the chemise to show off the stockings a little better.

He gulped. "I don't think we have time. The stew runs out quickly."

She rolled her eyes. "Here's the thing, Killian: we _do_ have time. They're not going to run out of stew in the time it'll take for us to have a little fun. Or even a lot of fun. And even then, we'll just have the pie or something. So," she continued, sitting up so she could face him eye to eye, "why don't you tell me what's _really_ going on?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Just … just _look_ at me, Emma."

His tone made it clear that he thought the problem was obvious, but she couldn't see anything in particular. "You don't look hurt," she said. "Or sick. Killian, I really have no idea what you're talking about. Or—do you want to take a bath first? Because I get that, and I'm glad I did. But as long as, you know, all the important parts of you are clean, I'm not gonna be grossed out."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't say no to a bath, but no, that's not it. But—darling, I know our age gap was always a bit of a joke between us, but you have to admit, this is a bit much."

"What does our age gap have to do with anything?" she asked nervously. She hadn't even teased him about it recently.

"I know what my body looks like now, Swan. I'm not the man I was."

" _Oh._ You think I'm not attracted to you anymore?"

He blushed. "Well, no, I mean—I didn't say _that."_

She wanted to laugh—Killian Jones, cockiest bastard she'd ever met, was insecure about his appearance—but she knew that would just make the situation worse. "Killian, three nights ago, I gave you a blowjob, and the next night, I fucked you. Without any of my memories, I still wanted you just as badly as I always do."

He frowned, clearly unable to argue with her point, but he didn't say anything. "Look," she continued, "if anything, I'm the one who should be upset about this."

He blanched, obviously hurt to hear her say that. "And why's that?"

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you—you know that, right?" He smiled, and her heart swelled a bit. "And that means that I want to be with you in thirty years. When you'll look like this. And _damn,_ Killian, I like what I see."

"Then why would it upset you?"

"Well, you have no idea what _I'm_ going to look like," she pointed out. "What if I'm all gnarled and hideous? Plus, I'm sure my boob sag is going to be _epic._ "

He scowled. "Your breasts will always be perfect."

"Boob sag is a real thing, Killian."

"I didn't say they wouldn't change, Swan. But they'll always be perfect to me."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying I could be a shriveled old crone, and you'd still find me attractive?" He glared at her and she sighed. "Look, if you don't want to have sex—I know, we can't have _sex_ but you know what I mean. I just mean, it's okay if you don't want to. But I _love_ you, and I want to make love to you. I want to touch every part of you and make you come until you can't move. And I want your hand all over me, and your mouth and your tongue. And I want you to make me forget that we're cursed or something." His breathing had sped up. "Do you believe me."

"Aye, I do," he answered hoarsely.

"What are you going to do about it?"

He responded like she'd hoped he would, by pushing her back down onto the bed and beginning to pull down one of her stockings. "I think you know _exactly_ what I'm going to do about it," he said roughly.

She was going to reply, but the sudden turn of events was ramping her arousal up considerably. She spread her legs instead. "That's it," he said. "You _wanton_ thing. You're not even wearing knickers, you naughty girl." God, _yes_ , she loved when he got like this. "Crown Princess Emma, lusting after a pirate for _weeks._ Sucking a pirate's cock and letting him fuck her. What _ever_ will I do with you?"

In the end, they were late enough for supper that the stew _did_ run out, but Killian didn't seem to care.

That night, they lay in bed together after another several satisfying orgasms, gently tracing patterns on each other's skin. "I hate that we have to go deal with another curse," she said sadly.

"Is it a curse?" he asked.

"I don't know. True Love's Kiss seemed to help, I guess? Anyway, I wish we could just enjoy this."

"I wish we could just enjoy this _at home,"_ he replied. "And at my proper age."

She chuckled. "It's not like you had any problems performing."

"Perhaps not, but I'm going to be much more sore tomorrow than I would be otherwise."

"Drama queen."

"Oi, am not. My knees are still creaky from kneeling on the floor to lick you the other night."

"Then you shouldn't have done it." She laughed. "'Doctor, it hurts when I do this—' 'Well, then don't do it!'"

"Oh, it was worth it, darling." He pulled her to him more closely. "Kneeling before a beautiful, brave princess and worshipping her the way she deserved to be worshipped." He sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"You understand, Swan, it wasn't simply that I knew who you were."

"Uh … I guess I don't understand. What do you mean?"

He shifted so they could face each other a little better. "The day you arrived on my ship, we'd only just made port, after a solid several weeks at sea, only to find that Regina had kidnapped Henry. It's why we were in such a rush to weigh anchor, and why I ignored your initial request to meet. Granted, I hadn't known who you were, just that a woman had come by to speak to me. I was worried it was Regina, come to manipulate me into her employ again, or to punish me for double-crossing her."

Emma had completely forgotten about that, that Killian had worked for Regina for a while before ditching her to work for Cora. But even so, that didn't really clarify things. "Okay, but what does that have to do with me?"

"Everything," he said sadly. "I knew I was sailing straight towards both Regina and Rumplestiltskin, two people who would _happily_ reveal my identity to you in an effort to see me suffer, or in Regina's case, to see us both suffer. It was one of the reasons I was so conflicted over my growing love for you—I'd known from the start that it was only a matter of time before you learned I was Hook. I just never expected that you wouldn't really _care."_

"Well, I mean, I did care a little," she admitted, gently fingering the skin of his left wrist. "But mostly out of a sense of … responsibility to Neal, I guess. And how _improper_ it was—stuff like that. But I could tell, right off the bat, that you were a good person. I trusted you."

He smiled. "I'm glad. And not just because we wouldn't have our memories back if you hadn't. But because I'd spent so long feeling as though I'd wasted my life, and you brought meaning back into it. Thank you."

"Thank _you,"_ she said firmly. "And, well, thank Smee, I guess. Man, was he easy to bribe."

His laughter had never sounded richer.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to know what you think!**

 **Friendly reminder that this is the final story I am posting to FFnet. Check out AO3 (same username) for new fics! I've posted a few over there already that aren't on FFnet.**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note: Just another reminder that this story is only canon through 6x08.**

* * *

With Emma's magic to help the ship along, it took only a week to get back to the Enchanted Forest; when they made port, there was already a carriage waiting for them. Killian had to spend some time giving Smee quick instructions regarding the _Jolly Roger_ , but then they were off.

"It's weird to be here," Emma commented, staring out the window. "Like, I have all these memories right now saying that this is home, where I grew up. But it's not."

"I only have a few memories of this place," Killian said. "I made it a point to be among the crowd for your wedding parade; obviously the streets were a little harder to navigate that day."

"You came to my wedding?" Why the hell would he have come to that?

"Bae's wedding," he pointed out. Oh, right. "So you can imagine my surprise when I left that afternoon with the face of his young wife seared into my mind." She blushed. "I never forgot you. Even a decade and a half later, I still recognized you."

"Those memories weren't real," she said, not just reminding him, but herself as well. She _could_ remember that wedding day, as if it had actually happened, standing up in the center of the great hall in her parents' castle, reciting her vows to Neal, riding through the streets in a carriage and waving at her subjects. Their faces were all a blur—she believed Killian had memories of being in the crowd, but she had no memory of seeing him there.

"Did your mother have any updates when you spoke to her this morning?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Just that Zelena and baby Robyn had arrived. But nothing about getting home. I think if they'd figured it out, they'd have just gone ahead and done it already."

"Unless they need you for it."

She shrugged. "I doubt it. I already shared True Love's Kiss with you, and that didn't do the trick."

"Well, we'll see." He grasped her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

They arrived to find a pretty damn sullen group of people who had made very little progress on figuring out how to get home. Gold in particular was so livid over the whole situation that Snow suggested Killian make an effort not to be in the same room with him; the Dark One was not very pleased about Regina using his dagger, or imprisoning his ex-wife and son for what had felt like thirty years. He was even less pleased that said ex-wife was refusing to let him de-age said son, and that said son somehow had memories of already hating his father (Killian tried to explain it to her once—something about the sleeping curse—but she wasn't clear on the details).

Henry, who enveloped her in a massive hug the moment she walked through the palace gates, was obviously trying to act like he was totally unaffected by the past month. He was cracking jokes about how weird it was that his uncle was older than he was, or how Emma seemed to have a thing for pirates no matter what reality they were in. But he wouldn't talk about what had happened while he'd been Regina's prisoner, and Emma knew him well enough to notice that he was avoiding his other mother.

Snow and David had taken on their usual role as _de facto_ leaders, but Emma could see the strain between them. She knew they fought sometimes; hell, she'd seen firsthand how pissed Snow had been in Neverland when she'd found out about the dreamshade poisoning. This was different, though, and she knew why. Her parents had spent the past two months (years, according to their memories) practically divorced, unable to forgive or compromise, unable to talk things out. It had been way worse than the first dark curse, when David Nolan had royally fucked everything up, and just regaining their memories hadn't fixed everything.

Belle—Belle, who hardly held grudges against anyone—would barely speak to anyone besides Gideon. Whether Belle was upset because her child had become an adult practically overnight, or because both of them had been imprisoned and isolated for thirty years (no, Emma kept reminding herself, _not_ thirty years—it wasn't real), it wasn't clear.

She'd expected Zelena to be at least a little unaffected by everything, since she'd been in Oz the whole time, but the Wicked Witch had apparently spent the past thirty years in exile thanks to Dorothy. Emma privately figured that said exile was well-deserved; Zelena hadn't really been on their side for very long anyway. But baby Robyn (who was, just like Gideon and Neal, all grown up and very confused) had been kidnapped and raised by Dorothy to despise her mother; she hadn't exactly come willingly with Zelena to the Enchanted Forest. She was currently magically locked in her chambers, and the guilt over having to imprison her own daughter left Zelena silent and moody.

And Regina was the worst of everyone. She barely spoke except to Henry, and it was painful to hear how hard she was trying to make amends with her son, who was politely and cleverly rebuffing all her advances. She brushed off Snow's well-meaning words and Gold's barbs, opting to spend most of her time alone in her own chambers. Emma had hoped she could talk to her friend, but her friend clearly did not want to talk.

It was clear that Regina blamed herself for the whole situation, and while Emma did feel like Regina was the reason this had all happened, she was way more interested in fixing the problem than spending hours hemming and hawing over shit like blame and responsibility. None of them had known that "paying the price" would affect all of them, and even then, Emma was sure that everyone in that room would have supported the "put Regina back together plan" even if they'd known what would happen.

Well, probably not Gold, who probably would have just suggested they all kill Regina, but he hadn't been the room, and Emma didn't care what he thought anyway.

"Well, this is bullshit," she said that evening, as she and Killian lay in bed.

"It is," he agreed. "Everyone's in a foul mood, except us I suppose."

"Yeah, well, it kind of bleeds through, you know?"

"I do."

"Especially when Regina is blaming herself for everything—I mean, shouldn't it be possible for her to recognize what she's responsible for while _not_ moping around and shutting down?"

"Aye, the self-flagellation isn't constructive."

"What are we going to do?"

He sighed and pulled her to him. "The same thing we always do, I suppose. Get everyone together, have one of us make a speech about hope and perseverance, and pray that we can convince Belle to go to the library and find some answers."

She chuckled in spite of herself. "I'm gonna have to make that speech, aren't I?"

"If your mum were going to, it would have happened already."

"Fair enough."

But the following morning, after she and Killian use all of their skills as practiced liars to try to get everyone together in a room at the same time, they found themselves in the breakfast room with just her mother, father, and, of all people, her _brother._

"I might not have any idea what's gotten into all of you, but you _are_ my family," he said by way of explanation, before gesturing at Killian. "Except for this fellow."

"Now, now, mate, is that any way to speak to your brother-in-law?" Killian replied with a grin.

"According to my parents and nephew, you _aren't_ my brother-in-law, but I suppose they wanted to give your inappropriate relationship with my sister some semblance of legitimacy."

"You'd think I'd be offended by that, but I _am_ a pirate."

"Okay, _anyway,"_ Emma interrupted. "We're not going to figure out how to fix all this and get home if everyone's acting like this. I mean, even you two," she said, gesturing at her parents. "Look, I know you've spent a week trying to keep the peace, but come on. You were able to put aside everything that happened during the first curse. I know this was worse, but—"

"Emma, the the first curse wasn't even _half_ this bad," Snow interrupted. "David hurt me back then, but we both still loved each other. This time, that was totally gone."

"No offense, Your Majesties," Killian interjected, "but if Emma and I were able to forgive each other for what we did and said to each other as Dark Ones, I think you can forgive each other for whatever transgressions caused your love to fade."

"As _Dark Ones?"_ Neal asked incredulously. "Plural?" They ignored him.

"I mean, it's not like you forgave each other _instantly,"_ David said.

"No, we pretty much did, Dad." Would he have sacrificed himself for her if he hadn't? And would she have gone to save him from the Underworld if _she_ hadn't? Not that they hadn't talked about it afterwards, but the conversation had essentially involved each of them apologizing tearfully and profusely while the other insisted that all was forgiven.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she continued. "What matters is that you guys love each other and need to stop acting like your behavior here was real. Well, it wasn't. End of story." Neither one of her parents said anything, but to her surprise, Neal was nodding in agreement. At least _that_ was something.

"Now, I don't know how to fix this, but I'm still the Savior, so at the very least, I'm going to get you all to stop fighting so we can work together to get Regina out of her funk. Now, where's Henry?"

Henry was in his room, staring at a storybook. "Where'd you get that, kid?"

"It was in Grandma's closet. You're not going to tell her I was in there, are you? I realize that sounds really bad, but I just figured it would be there."

"True, it was there the last two times. I won't tell her. What's this one?"

"It's our stories here. I only just found it this morning, but I think I figured out why things are the way they are."

"Whoa, really? Is that why you didn't come down to the meeting?"

He winced initially, and then tried to hide it with a shrug. "Well, I was pretty engrossed in reading, so—"

"Regina wasn't even there."

"I'm not avoiding her."

"Yeah, and my super power just disappeared overnight."

"Do you want to hear what I figured out, or not?"

She sighed. "Yes, I do."

"Well, this definitely isn't a dark curse," he explained. "A curse like that wouldn't explain why so many people ended up aging."

"True."

"And it's not time travel either," he continued, and now he was getting excited. She'd missed this attitude; in fact, he hadn't had it at all in her fake memories. Prince Henry had always been bored and unhappy. "Because if it were time travel, we wouldn't be able to get our old memories back. It's like when you and Hook went back in time by accident and changed how Grandma and Grandpa met, except that the rest of us only know one version."

"So what is it then?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but it all hinges on one thing changing," he said dramatically as he flipped to a page in the storybook. The text was too tiny to read, but the illustration was pretty clear: it was teenaged Baelfire, in front of the Dark One's manor. "Dad left Neverland earlier than he was supposed to, and ended up coming back to the Enchanted Forest instead of going to the Land Without Magic."

"But that's not the only thing that changed," Emma pointed out.

"No, but that was what set everything else off," he replied, as though he'd been expecting her to protest. She imagined that if they had the technology, he would have prepared a PowerPoint explanation. "The whole reason why Rumplestiltskin wanted Regina to cast the curse in the first place was because he knew his son had gone to a land without magic, and the curse was his way of getting there without a portal. So if his son came back to him _before_ the curse was cast—"

"Then he wouldn't have wanted her to do it anymore," Emma finished. "So _that's_ why he stopped her from casting the curse."

"Yep."

"Good timing," she said, breathing out heavily.

Henry's eyes narrowed a bit. "Mom, it wasn't good timing. Mom had killed her own dad for nothing. It made her even more miserable."

"True, that's true. Sorry, it's hard to remember. But this is really helpful." He smiled. "Do you mind if I borrow it?"

"Sure. Just return it, okay? I haven't finished reading it."

"Okay. Thanks, kid."

She bumped into her mother on the way to the library. "Oh, I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to thank you for what you said this morning."

"Oh?"

"You were right, about me and your father. As soon as we were alone, both of us just started tearing up and apologizing, and before we knew it, everything was …"

"Fine?"

"Well, not _fine,_ exactly."

Emma nodded. "You're still sad about what happened, but you're together and you forgive each other."

"Exactly. What's that?"

"Oh, Henry found a storybook. I'm going to see what I can glean from it."

"Where did he find it?" Emma bit her lip as she thought of a good lie, but it was too late. "Oh, come _on_ , did he go into my closet?"

"Okay, but I wasn't the one who told you!"

She sighed. "Well, let me know if there's anything interesting in there."

"You know I will."

And, well, it _was_ pretty interesting. The story up until Baelfire's return was something she already knew by heart, but after that, she only knew her own story and most of her parents' and Henry's. But now, she could catch up on everyone else's, without having to corner them to ask them.

Now, she could see the true extent of how broken her parents' relationship had been; while it still didn't quite approach "We were both Dark Ones and did and said some terrible shit to each other" territory, they'd definitely hidden most of their problems from her and Neal. There had been fights over _everything,_ with David insisting that they still raise Emma as the Savior who would defeat Regina, and Snow being the one to push for Emma to consider an arranged marriage. She was shocked to learn that her little brother _hadn't_ been the favorite child; her parents fought for years over how to handle their son, who seemed content to grow up without responsibilities, with no success.

Cora's death had been the last straw, but as far as Emma could tell, _anything_ would have been the last straw.

She learned that Henry had always known that his parents, who clearly cared about each other, did not _truly_ love each other. And now she didn't have to ask Henry what had happened during his month with Regina; during his imprisonment, Regina had taunted him and tried to manipulate him into distrusting Emma and the rest of his family. She'd nearly broken him, too; after she'd tried to kill Emma with the storm she'd sent, Henry had offered his obedience in exchange for Emma having a chance to turn around.

She also read about Killian's intense feelings of purposelessness after Baelfire's return, feeling like he _had_ to give up his revenge and give Baelfire a chance to make amends with Rumple. But that had meant years of anger and resentment, that Bae had preferred Rumple as a father instead of Killian. With no desire to return to Neverland and spend eternity under Pan's thumb, with the Dark One out to get him, and with both Cora and Regina hellbent on having him work for them, he'd abandoned piracy, hidden his hook, and taken on Liam's name, letting Killian Jones disappear. He spent the past thirty years safe, but unhappy, unfulfilled, and lonely, always looking over his shoulder.

She sighed, gently tracing an illustration of his face with her fingertips. "Oh, Killian." Those were memories he'd have forever now, more memories that would haunt him, even if they weren't true. She closed her eyes for a moment, before turning the page and continuing.

She teared up a bit, reading about how angry and lonely Belle had been, locked in a tower, separated from her lover _and_ her son, whom Regina had enslaved. She made a mental note to be kinder to Zelena, who'd practically abandoned her wicked ways, pouring herself into trying to make contact with her daughter, who only knew her as a villain. She even felt bad for Gold—something that happened so infrequently that she felt it was pretty notable—who was never able to fully repair his relationship with his first son or have one at all with his second, who desperately missed and mourned his lost love, and who couldn't make any positive connections with anyone.

Worst of all, though, was Regina's story. Mostly, it was just depressing, as someone who cared about her as a friend, to see just how much destruction she'd wrought in thirty years. Granted, Emma had to remind herself, none of it was _real._ But it really was terrifying and upsetting, especially given that over those thirty years, it was like Regina had been one hundred percent Evil Queen, zero percent Regina.

And that had been the price, hadn't it? Regina had been consumed by the Evil Queen. If they hadn't gotten their memories back, what would have happened? Would Emma's mission been a success? Would she have managed to kill Regina in the process? Or would Regina have killed her instead, leaving everyone else to finish out their days in this miserable existence?

But there was something else in Regina's story, too.

Something worse.

She was running towards Regina's quarters when she bumped into Belle. "Oh!"

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you, but do you have a moment?"

"Um, yeah, but can you make it quick?" Emma asked. She needed to talk to Regina _immediately._

"I'll try. I wasn't going to say anything, but since you and Regina are close and, well …" Belle sighed, "and you _don't_ have memories of thirty years of imprisonment, and so on, I was thinking you'd be better suited to talk to her."

"I'm actually heading to go talk to her right now." Emma tried to will Belle to get to the point.

"Oh, good! It's just that I've noticed Rumple has been … well, you _know_ how he is, and how he's able to goad people into doing what he wants."

"I'm pretty familiar with it, yeah," she replied dryly.

Belle lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He's been reluctant to try to speak to anyone lately besides myself and Gideon, but when Regina is around, he makes all sorts of comments to her about her actions as the Evil Queen, and how it's her fault we're here. I don't quite know what his goal is, though I'm planning to find out—I'm on my way to speak to him now. I just wanted to check in with you first and let you know. It's been going on all week, but you and Killian only just arrived, and hasn't been doing it in front of you."

"Okay, well, thanks for letting me know."

"Of course." Belle smiled. "It _is_ good to see you, you know. I'm glad you and Killian found each other."

"Thanks. I'm just sorry it took so long."

"Well, to be fair, you could have found each other on the first day, and we'd still have all these terrible false memories. You're not responsible for that."

"I guess. I'll let you know how Regina's doing." Probably not well, given what Emma had just read in the book on top of everything else, but she needed to end the conversation so she could stop Regina from doing anything really, _really_ stupid.

Belle nodded and began walking towards Gold's rooms, and Emma began hurrying to Regina's. The door to her chambers was closed, which wasn't a surprise, but Emma could feel the magic permeating from it even before she was up close. "Goddamnit, Regina." The spell protecting the door wasn't _that_ powerful, nothing Emma couldn't handle, but it was a bad sign if Regina was resorting to magic to keep people out.

She quickly held up her hand in front of the door, let her magic bust through the incantation, and practically kicked her way in.

It was too late.

Regina lay on the floor, with one hand lightly gripping a needle, and the other sporting a bead of blood on the pad of one finger.

"Fuck! Come _on_ , Regina." It wasn't like Regina could hear her, but _still._ "You had to know we'd just go get Henry!"

As she made her way to the door to go find their son, a sheet of parchment on Regina's vanity caught her eye. She groaned as she read it.

 _With all of the death and destruction I've wrought, there is no way for me to atone for my crimes. Worse, the price should have been mine alone to pay; that you have all been forced to suffer with me in this fashion is cruel and unjust. If I had known what would happen, I never would have attempted to put myself back together._

 _Belle and Gideon, I am so sorry for the way I treated you. Even if we have years of false memories, Belle, I really_ did _imprison you for years, before and during the dark curse. It was wrong of me, and monstrous, to treat you as a pawn, especially in such a manner._

 _Henry, I love you so much, and I am so sorry that I failed you as a mother. Even without my memories here, I felt budding affection for you, and I willingly ignored it so I could continue to be cruel to you. You deserve better than me._

 _Emma, I know you'll take care of Henry, better than I ever could. The only reason I was even able to truly love him was due to your intervention. Without your arrival in Storybrooke, and all of the changes you brought with you, I would have stayed the same, and Henry and I would never have had any happiness together._

 _Zelena, I'm sorry that I can't be there for you to help you mend your relationship with Robyn. But I hope that she will forgive you, the way we forgave each other, and that you'll have the chance to be a mother to her._

 _Snow, thank you for the forgiveness you've shown me over the years. I wish I could have lived up to your expectations. I'm sorry that I failed you as a stepmother, and as a friend._

 _I do not deserve to live, but because there is no way to know if my death will return you to Storybrooke or simply imprison you all in this reality, I cannot take my own life. Instead, I am sure that this sleeping curse is now unbreakable, since there is no way Henry will ever forgive me for what I've done. I have faith that you will find a way back, and that I alone will continue to pay the price for my misguided act._

 _I am so sorry._

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Regina."

"Emma!" David was skidding to a halt in the hallway in front of the open door. "Emma, we have a _huge_ problem!"

"You're telling me!" she exclaimed, pointing behind her.

His eyes fell on Regina and he sighed. "Don't tell me that's a sleeping curse."

"Yep. Complete with … sleeping curse note," she said, waving the parchment at him. "Have you seen Henry?"

"That's the problem," he said angrily. "Gold's gone, and Henry is, too."

Her stomach felt like it had fallen into her shoes. "What do you mean, _gone?"_

"As in _gone."_

"Where's Belle? And where's their kid?" David shrugged. "We need to find them _now."_

Two hours later, after every single servant had been enlisted to search the castle, Emma sat down in the war room with her parents, Killian, and Zelena. Belle and Gideon were nowhere to be found, but Emma knew what had happened.

"Belle said Gold had been treating Regina like shit all week, making her feel guilty about everything she'd done as the Evil Queen, and blaming her for us being here."

"You think he did this on purpose?" David asked.

"Have you not _met_ Rumple?" Zelena asked sarcastically.

"We all know Regina," Emma continued. "A while back, Robin told me about how she was going to use the sleeping curse on herself when she was convinced she'd never see Henry again. Even if Gold wasn't familiar with that story, Regina _does_ this kind of thing. He'd want to punish her for what she did to his family, even if she, you know … wasn't herself at the time."

"And he took Henry to keep Regina from waking up," Snow murmured.

"I doubt Belle and Gideon went willingly," Killian added. "But I wouldn't put it past the Crocodile to use magic to circumvent their wishes. It would certainly prevent them from aiding us."

"I'd say that I know his manor well enough that he's messing with the wrong people," Emma said. "But I bet he's changed the magical locks or whatever. I don't know—Zelena, do you think we could handle him together?"

"It's worth a try," she replied, "but he'd be expecting us."

"What about Robin? Where is he?" Killian asked. Emma winced, and to her surprise, both of her parents looked distressed. "What?"

"We don't know where he is," Snow said. "Regina didn't seem to either, and we haven't been able to find him. We think maybe the way the price worked, he's still gone, the way that Neal—Baelfire—is."

"But he was alive right before this happened," Zelena said insistently. "So he should still _be_ alive."

"You've been searching?" Killian asked, and they nodded. "And Regina really had no idea of his whereabouts?"

David shook his head. "No, although come to think of it, she kept insisting it was more important to figure out how to get home than it was to find him."

"Guys?" Emma said anxiously, as she pulled Henry's book up from where she'd left it on the floor. "Here's the thing: we're not going to find Robin."

"How are you so sure?" Snow asked.

"Because I read the book," she said sadly, flipping it open to the right page.

The illustration showed Regina dragging a semi-conscious Henry, standing in front of the main door of Rumplestiltskin's manor. Her body was facing the forest, and her outstretched hand had a stream of magic shooting out of it. Emma quickly read the text out loud.

"'And as the Evil Queen began to force the young and injured prince to let her into the manor, she was momentarily halted by an arrow from the bow of the legendary thief, Robin Hood. He'd heard of the prince's kidnapping, and since the Evil Queen had murdered his wife, he sought to put a stop to her nefarious plans. In retaliation, the Queen cursed him with a spell too powerful for True Love's Kiss to break, and left him to die as she continued onward into the Dark One's home.'"

"Bloody hell."

"Well done, sis."

"Oh _no."_

"Great."

"So yeah," Emma said bitterly. "We're not going to find Robin."

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Once again, this story is only canon through 6x08 and is not based on any spoilers.**

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Emma couldn't sleep that night. Killian sat up in bed, watching her as she paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. "Love, we'll figure it out."

"What's there to figure out?" she asked. "Rumplestiltskin's our enemy again, and Regina's out of commission. The person we rely on to walk into a library and come out with answers has been whisked away along with my son. The only thing I need to _figure out_ is whether or not my subjects will care that my second husband is a one-handed pirate thirty years my senior."

"Pardon? I wasn't aware that we were getting married. Not that I'm _opposed_ , of course, but I'll need a more romantic proposal."

"Well, we're obviously never getting back to Storybrooke, and I can't get Henry back on my own." Didn't he _get_ that? She'd only succeeded in rescuing Henry from Pan because _all_ of them had been trying—she'd had Regina and Gold on her side, and they'd worked together as a team.

"And _don't_ say that wasn't going to stop me before," she said as he opened his mouth to protest. "This is different and you know it. So we're just going to have to resign ourselves to living here and pretending this is normal, and I'm gonna have to push out another heir, so we're going to have to get married."

"Swan, you _will_ succeed in getting Henry back. And then if you insist on marrying me anyway, I won't protest much. Although as I said before, I'll need something more romantic before I'll agree. And you _will_ have to actually _ask_ me."

"You're not taking this seriously!"

"I am!" She glared at him. "All right, perhaps I'm making light of the situation a tad, but darling, you are _panicking_. Please, come here."

She sighed and shrugged off her robe before climbing into bed. "Sorry. I just—Gold's _supposed_ to be on our side now. And I'm tired of having to rescue Henry, and I _know_ he's tired of having to be rescued."

"He's growing up, and he's just as resourceful as his mother," Killian reminded her as he tucked her into his side. "I'm sure he's already finalized his first escape plan and will be putting it into motion soon." She grunted noncommittally. "Do you remember what I told you in Neverland?"

"That you'd win my heart? Yeah." He _loved_ to tell that story.

"Well, yes, but after that. That I'd yet to see you fail?"

"I remember," she said softly, playing with his chest hair and feeling suddenly shy about the praise she knew he was about to heap on her.

"That's still true."

"I didn't get you out of the Underworld."

"Yes, you did. I was only able to move on because _you_ were able to defeat Hades. It just so happened that moving on, for me, was coming back to you."

"I didn't defeat Hades."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Swan, don't argue with me. _You_ had to find those pages, and _you_ were the one who did the right thing with them. Had you handled Zelena any other way, who knows what the outcome would have been? _Anyway_ , my point is this: you _will_ succeed, you _will_ rescue Henry, we _will_ return to Storybrooke. And if you still want to marry me then, _and_ if you can put together an adequate proposal, then I'll marry you."

She snorted. "What, no insecure comment about how you're the one who's supposed to propose to me?"

"Not this time, Swan. I'd marry you in a heartbeat, so when you tell me you're ready, that'll settle the matter. Unless you'd _prefer_ that I propose?"

"I'll think about it."

"Fair enough. Now, not to draw attention to insecurities again, but I'm not as young as I once was, and I'd like to get some rest. Shall we?"

But of course, she couldn't sleep. Her insomnia wasn't the same kind of desperate sleeplessness she'd dealt with as Princess Emma, when Prince Henry had been kidnapped. She'd still been _herself_ , of course, and so she'd been up all night thinking of solutions and methods, ways to find Henry and defeat Regina.

It was different now. She felt angry, not desperate. And this time, she had some advantages. She knew Gold's motives; Henry with his memories back would probably be a much more difficult prisoner than he'd been before; Belle and Gideon were almost certainly working against Gold as best they could; and now Zelena was here to help.

But they'd lost the element of surprise; even if Gold had taken everyone back to his estate, it was now probably impossible for Emma to get inside. Her magic, which would have surprised Regina, was common knowledge to Gold; he even had intimate knowledge of her magical abilities and limitations, now that he'd taken up the Darkness again after it had passed through her.

If anything, the only way to rescue Henry was to figure out how to get back to Storybrooke, and even then, that seemed impossible without Regina, Belle, or Gold to help. Maybe she and Zelena could handle the magical aspects of it, and Killian was pretty good at research, but even so …

Long after Killian had fallen asleep, Emma slipped out of bed, pulled her robe back on, and made her way down to the sitting room, where she knew there would still be a fire even at this hour. She had plenty of memories of visiting in the dead of night whenever she couldn't sleep, especially in the weeks leading up to her wedding. She hadn't ever been there for real; all her memories of the room were fake. But it still felt like the best place to go.

To her surprise, the room wasn't empty. "What are you doing up?"

"Same as you," Neal replied from his favorite arm chair. He stared intently at the fire. "I couldn't sleep."

"Fair enough." She sat in the arm chair next to him. _Her_ favorite chair, she reminded herself—a chair she'd never actually sat in before. "What's keeping you up?"

He scoffed. "I'm sorry, should I not care that my nephew's been kidnapped by the Dark One?"

"I didn't say that."

He sighed angrily. "Just because I don't quite understand or believe the story you're all suddenly telling doesn't mean I suddenly don't care about my own family."

"I didn't say _that_ either!" She groaned. "God, Neal, will you pull your fucking head out of your ass?"

"This is _exactly_ why I've been avoiding everyone! My name isn't _Neal,_ and this is _not_ how you used to speak!"

"I'm not going to argue with you about names, because god knows I wish Mom and Dad had named you Leopold for real, but yeah, kid, this _is_ how I talk, okay?" She stood up and blocked his view of the fireplace. He stubbornly refused to meet her gaze, craning his neck instead to look at the fire.

"I know you're upset about the fact that you're really only six months old, but you _need_ to understand how important it is that we get back to our real lives. There's a world you're _supposed_ to grow up in where Mom and Dad don't hate each other, and where I don't end up in an arranged marriage."

"Oh, I know," he retorted. "It's a world where apparently you and our parents are the same age, you grew up as a miserable orphan, and you didn't even get to raise Henry. Please tell me how _that's_ preferable."

"I—" She hadn't really thought about that. "Well, that's not important! What's important is that we're not crazy. That's our _real_ life back there, and we need to get back to it."

"I'm not stopping you."

She let out an exasperated sigh and sank back into her chair. "No, you're not, I guess."

"Please try to look at this from my perspective," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "In one day, I learn that my entire family is made up of strangers, who all seem to know some sort of secret that I'm not privy to. You're all speaking strangely, of strange things, and when I've expressed my doubts and reservations, I'm treated like I'm mad." He chuckled. "Honestly, I'm not sure what's been the most absurd occurrence: Regina returning voluntarily with Henry and referring to him as her son, or you coming home with none other than Captain Hook and claiming he's your lover."

"Would it be called 'claiming' if it's true?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"You might all be mad, but you are my family, and I do love you," he said. "But promise me that when we return to whatever reality you seem to think we need to return to, you'll make sure to wipe my memories. I doubt a six-month-old babe needs to know what I know."

"I don't think we'll need to. Babies don't remember stuff anyways."

"Just to be safe, please. If you even know of a potion."

"I do. Well, Regina does. We had to use it on Roland one time."

"Who's Roland?"

"Her boyfriend's son. It's a long story."

"The beau she accidentally killed, according to that strange book Henry found?"

"Yeah," she said with a heavy sigh. "Yeah, same guy. God, I know it was different for me, but killing your boyfriend is the _worst."_

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"Anyways," he said, sounding not entirely convinced that he didn't want to know the backstory, "this Roland must be devastated at the loss of his father."

"Yeah, he would be." She wasn't about to go into what had happened right before Regina had tried to undo the split, with Robin coming back from the dead. She wondered if Roland knew what had happened to his dad here. Actually, if Roland were here—

"Oh, holy _shit!"_ She leapt out of her chair again.

"You're doing it again," he said unhappily.

"No, Neal, that's it! Roland!"

"And _again."_

"Oh, this is _huge._ We need to go _now."_

"Go where? And now? It's nearly midnight, Emma."

"I know, and I don't care. Look, I have to go—tell Mom and Dad, okay?"

"Tell them _what?"_

"Robin might be alive!" And with that, she rushed back to her own quarters.

Killian didn't wake up until she was half-dressed. "Love, what on earth are you doing? Why aren't you trying to sleep?"

"Robin might be alive," she said quickly. "Get up, okay?"

Killian's response was nearly instantaneous; he practically jumped out of bed and rushed to dress himself. "Where are we going?"

"We'll start with my place," she said. "And then Sherwood. I'd say we should start near Gold's place, but that might be too dangerous right now." She finished pulling her boots on.

"What exactly is going on? Not that I'm questioning your judgment; I'm just a little in the dark here."

"Roland," she replied breathlessly. "I saw _Roland._ "

"Where?"

"Gold's place. Now come on, give me your hand."

"Why?"

"We need to go."

She shut her eyes, visualized the road that led into her estate, and summoned her magic.

"A little warning next time, Swan?" Killian asked, irritated.

"Sorry."

"Where are we?"

"Just outside my place—my _estate,_ I guess. I didn't want to poof directly inside. Might cause a bit of a commotion or whatever."

"Wise." They began to walk down the track, approaching the currently quiet market. "So that means you have time to explain the situation, doesn't it?"

So she explained how she'd been caught by a thief on her way into Gold's place, and that the thief had been looking for a magical artifact that would dispel the same kind of curse that the book said Regina had cast on Robin. How she'd helped that thief find a magic wand that might help him. How the thief had been around her age, with dark hair and eyes. How he'd flinched and then helped her when she'd commented about thieves having a code.

As she told him what had happened, she felt a knot of stress in her stomach. Killian had supported her through thick and thin, but hearing herself talk, she realized just how … unlikely this whole scenario was. What the hell were the chances that she'd just _happened_ to run into Roland, and she'd just _happened_ to make sure he got a wand that would save his dad, and that had just _happened_ to work?

"Then we'd better hurry, love," was his only response.

"You think I'm right?"

"Well, it seems a little coincidental, but then again, doesn't it seem coincidental that you would just happen to hire _me_ to take you on your journey?"

She blushed. "Uh, it wasn't really a coincidence. I used the compass. I thought about finding a ship's captain who could help me and wouldn't fuck me over, and it pointed to you."

He laughed. "I did fuck you, as it were. Eventually."

"Very funny."

"The compass pointed to me?"

"Yeah, why?"

"But you couldn't get it to work after the storm."

"No, it worked, it just pointed to Henry or my mom."

"And me, although you neglected to inform me of that particular feature until now. I suppose that does answer _that_ question."

"What question?"

"The question of when the compass works and when it does not."

"And when does it work?"

He gave her a wide smile. "When you're thinking of someone you truly love."

She felt like she was melting a little under his gaze, but she stumbled a little on an uneven stretch of the road, and it ruined the mood. "All right, we should focus on getting to my place. My _manor._ God, that's way too fancy."

But she couldn't help but comment: "You know, it's the same compass."

"I know," he answered roughly, and he reached out for her to hold his hook. "It's brought us together twice."

Soon enough, they were at her manor, much to the surprise of the sentries. She tried very hard to slip back into her princess persona as she asked to see her top advisor, Charlotte, who'd been left in charge by Snow. Killian, meanwhile, seemed nervous and was definitely trying to keep his hook inconspicuous. "What's wrong?" she whispered to him as they made their way to the front hall.

"These are Baelfire's people," he reminded her. "I doubt they'd take kindly to meeting Captain Hook."

"They're not going to care. Most of them don't even know about your history with Neal, and besides, these are _my_ people, not his. I'm the princess here, even if I don't really feel like one."

"Fair enough." But she noticed he was still trying to hide his hook.

"Your Highness!" It was Charlotte, rushing towards her in a panic, trying to hold her dressing gown shut. "I didn't realize you'd be back, and so late in the evening!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said, smiling a little. Killian nudged her, and she remembered she needed to speak a little more formally. "I would have warned you, but there was really no time. I trust that you haven't encountered any issues in my absence?" See, she could _totally_ be a princess.

Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but then looked at Killian suspiciously. "Perhaps we can speak privately, Your Highness?"

"Killian is my friend and ally," she said firmly. She wanted to roll her eyes and tell Charlotte that Killian was _way_ more than just a friend, but it wouldn't be fair to confuse and alarm a trusted advisor and loyal subject who just wanted to help. "Anything you tell me, I'll simply tell him later, so you might as well speak freely in his presence."

"I see. Well, we've had no news of Henry whatsoever. But a rather mad man arrived a week ago, insisting he knew you and needed to speak to you immediately."

"Can you describe him? Besides mad, I suppose."

"About eighteen hands tall, dark eyes, dark hair, perhaps your age. He said his name was—"

"—Roland," she interrupted. "His name is Roland, yes?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I—so you _do_ know him?"

"I do." She didn't want to alarm her advisor with the _whole_ truth, but she figured Charlotte deserved some sort of explanation. "He assisted me during my search for Henry. Is he still here?"

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness! I didn't know he was an acquaintance of yours. He wouldn't leave, and he was spouting such nonsense …" Charlotte grimaced. "I had him arrested."

Emma sighed; at least that meant they wouldn't have to go looking for him. "It's all right, Charlotte. You did what you should have done—you had no way of knowing he was telling the truth. Please have him brought to the Red Room immediately."

"Very well, Your Highness."

Ten minutes later, Roland burst into the receiving room where Emma and Killian were both waiting. "Emma! And—is that Hook?"

"Roland!"

She hurried to embrace him, remembering all the hugs she'd gotten from his toddler self and almost laughing over how _ridiculous_ was that he was older than she was, even if not by much. "Sorry about the whole 'imprisonment' thing."

"I assume you didn't give the order," he pointed out, before releasing her and hugging Killian.

"You're a mite taller than you were last I saw you, lad," Killian said.

Roland laughed. "Well, I'm not five years old this time." He grinned at Emma. "It's a bit odd, isn't it? I've always been older than you, I suppose."

"Yeah, well, I'll try to keep that in mind after we fix all this. Before we talk about anything else, I have to know—"

"He's alive," Roland said quickly, but he didn't sound happy or relieved or anything.

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"He's alive, but only because that wand you gave me let me cast some sort of stasis spell on him," he finished. "I've spent the past weeks trying to find another solution. But if I recall, you do have magic, yes?"

She nodded. "And I know how to use it pretty well. Let's go."

He blinked a little blearily. "Now? But it's well past midnight."

"Magic, remember?"

"Ah, right."

Once they were out of the manor, after reassuring Charlotte that she wouldn't be gone for as long without sending word, Emma asked Roland to describe the Merry Men's encampment. Grasping Roland's hand and Killian's hook, she tried to imagine it as best she could. The startled gasps and shouts that surrounded them moments later told her she'd succeeded. "Roland! What on earth is going on?"

She opened her eyes to see the speaker: Little John. He frowned for a moment before recognizing her and Killian. "Oh!"

"Hey," she said, smiling a little. "Sorry about that. We didn't want to waste time riding here."

"You're here about Robin?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"This way," Roland said, pulling her towards a small tent. Both Little John and Killian followed, although only Killian followed them inside.

Robin lay on a cot in the center. He looked the way Killian did: still handsome, looking young for his age, but still too old. Through a thin film of magic, though, one thing was clear:

He was alive.

Now she just had to figure out how to _keep_ him that way. Her knowledge of magic from when she was the Dark One hadn't evaporated, which was useful, but she knew that Robin had been close to death when Roland had come to get the wand in the first place. There was a chance that she'd lift the enchantment Roland had managed to cast, only to have Robin die moments later as she figured out how to lift Regina's curse.

"If this doesn't work …" she began, unsure of how to continue the sentence.

"We have to try," Roland said. "Otherwise, he stays this way forever, and either way, I lose my father again."

"Yeah," she breathed. "Just give me a minute. Can you get the wand?"

As Roland went to fetch it, she held her hands over the enchantment to get a better feel for it. It was rudimentary, obviously cast by a non-magical hand with a powerful magical item, but it was effective enough. Roland hadn't been able to lift the wasting curse, but this was a really solid charm he'd managed to cast. As far as she could tell, it had held steady over the entire month.

Now for the curse itself. She pushed her magic a little deeper and almost recoiled when she felt it. It was _definitely_ Regina's brand of magic, even if more confirmation hadn't been necessary. She could feel where it had taken root, and how it was poisoning Robin's entire body. This spell was _not_ rudimentary, though, and would take more than just her own magic to undo.

"Here." Roland was back with the wand.

The wand changed everything. As much as she'd felt nothing but relief when the Darkness had left her (well, not _nothing_ but relief, since her boyfriend had been _dying,_ but besides that), and as happy as she was to be herself again, she did appreciate the knowledge and magical wisdom that had lodged itself in her brain. And part of that magical wisdom was that she could easily use this wand to undo Regina's work.

Moments later, she heard sharp intakes of breath from everyone around her—Roland, Killian, but most importantly, _Robin._

He was gasping, which made sense because technically, he hadn't been breathing for the past month or so. But his color was good, and Emma couldn't feel anything left of the wasting curse. "You okay?"

"Emma! Oh thank _goodness_." At least his memory was back, too. "Dying once was enough." And his sense of humor.

"Try three times," Killian joked.

Robin's head jerked up towards Killian and he grinned. "This is a competition I'm happy to lose."

"Papa?"

"Roland!"

Emma quickly got to her feet and dragged Killian out of the tent, surprising the hell out of Little John, who'd been standing guard. "Sorry," she said. "Just wanted to give them some privacy."

While father and son celebrated their reunion, Emma stood awkwardly with Killian. The rest of the Merry Men seemed wary of them; Little John was one of the few people she knew from Storybrooke, which meant that the majority of the band of thieves saw her as a suspicious stranger. Except for Will Scarlet, who was clearly avoiding her; she wasn't usually one to hold grudges, but the man _did_ almost ruin her first date with Killian.

Killian, meanwhile, had also spotted the thief, and looked a bit smug about it. "I think I aged much better than he did, don't you think, love?"

After what felt like forever, but was probably only about five or ten minutes, Robin and Roland emerged from the tent. Emma waited anxiously as the he greeted his Merry Men one by one, celebrating his return. "Relax, Swan," Killian reminded her; she hadn't realized how tense she'd gotten.

Finally, Robin approached her, with Roland close behind. "So," he said, as cheerful as he'd always been, "I suppose we now know what the price was. Shall we get to determining a way home?"

"Yeah, but we have another problem first," Emma said.

He grimaced. "Of course. And that is?"

"How would you like to break a sleeping curse?"

"On who?" But before she could answer, he scowled. "Oh, she _didn't_ , did she? Because of me?"

"There were quite a few factors," Killian said.

"Well, let's get on with it then. I assume we're traveling magically?"

"Yep," Emma confirmed. "Hold on tight."

Moments later, all four of them were in Regina's chamber beside her bed, where she'd been moved after they'd found her on the floor. Robin didn't waste a second; he immediately dropped his hand from Emma's shoulder and rushed to Regina's side.

Emma was ready for the waves of light magic she'd come to associate with the breaking of a curse.

She wasn't ready to find herself standing in Regina's living room, staring at Regina herself. One Regina. Singular. Alone.

"What the _hell?"_ she asked.

"What just happened?" Regina asked.

"Congratulations," the Dragon said. "It seems as though you have succeeded. The price has been paid." And with that, he left.

"Well, I guess that _was_ deceptively simple," David said.

"Yeah, wait, so are you consumed by the Evil Queen?" Henry asked, sounding confused. "I thought you had to have that happen and then survive it, or did I misunderstand?"

"What are you talking about?" Regina asked.

"Hold on," Robin said. "What did you all see?"

"Regina holding hands with the Evil Queen, then a flash of light," Snow said. "That was it. Why, what did _you_ see?"

"We saw the same thing," Emma said quickly. Regina opened her mouth, looking like she was planning on disagreeing, but then she closed it and nodded her head. "So I guess that's it?"

"But nothing happened," Zelena said.

"It … was an internal battle," Regina lied. "It's over. It was just very weird."

"But you're all right?" Snow asked. Regina nodded, and Robin embraced her. "Okay, so … lunch at Granny's?" Everyone chuckled a little.

Emma met Regina's gaze and they both nodded at each other. Whatever had happened, they needed to talk about it, but there was no reason that everyone else had to know. What mattered was they were back, and everything was okay.

She felt Killian grasp her hand, and she squeezed it tightly.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think! All we've got left is the epilogue!**

 **As usual, please head over to swankkat's Tumblr to check out her artwork for this chapter, and to give her feedback!**


	15. Epilogue

During lunch, it became clear to Emma that the only four people who remembered anything from the weird alternate Enchanted Forest were herself, Killian, Regina, and Robin. Everyone else just seemed pleasantly surprised that the cost of putting Regina back together had been easier than the Dragon had made it sound. But the four of them kept exchanging anxious glances.

After lunch, Regina beckoned Emma over to the back hallway of the diner. "Can I talk to you for a minute? It's about Henry," she added quickly. Emma followed.

"This isn't about Henry, is it?" she asked knowingly after checking to make sure they were out of earshot.

"Of course not," Regina said, rolling her eyes. "What do you think we should do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we just spent two months in an alternate universe!"

"I know, but _they_ don't know that!"

Regina paused. "You don't think we should tell them?"

"I mean …" She shrugged. "What's the point?"

And what _was_ the point? Sure, it had been incredibly messed up and emotionally fraught, but there didn't seem any reason that they had to tell the whole, long story to everyone. They didn't remember how Regina's actions had affected them, and more importantly, all of it had been undone anyway.

"Besides," she continued, "Gold's already pissed as hell. Why let him know that you did something to make his life worse?"

"That's true," Regina said. "It's just … a bit strange, knowing something that only you, Robin, and Hook know about."

"Maybe we'll tell them someday," Emma admitted. "Just … not today."

Regina nodded.

"Why do you think it happened that way?" Emma asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I thought that you would just … be Evil Queen all the way again, and it would be like when I first came to Storybrooke. Why did we end up in the Enchanted Forest?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But … honestly, in a roundabout way, the original curse _was_ my happy ending. Thanks to Henry—to you—I was able to become the person I am now. Without it, I would have stayed in the Enchanted Forest, miserable and, well … _evil._ "

Emma nodded. "Well, I don't know if I can really _thank_ you for causing my parents to stick me in a wardrobe and send me away for twenty-eight years, but I will say, I'm glad that this is the reality we live in. I like it a lot better."

Regina snorted, but she smiled.

"So, you and Robin need to get Roland," Emma continued.

"Yeah." Regina sighed. "Getting the damn wand from Gold's going to be a chore."

"Belle will help," Emma reminded her. "Anyway, I know I was weirdly hyperfocused on the _how_ before, but I want you to know, I'm _really_ happy that Robin is back."

Regina smiled. "Thank you. I'm just … well, I guess you know exactly how this feels."

Emma laughed. "Maybe not _exactly,_ but yeah, I know the overall feeling."

"It was Zeus," Regina said quietly.

Emma frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Robin told me." Emma stiffened a bit, not in fear, but in anticipation. Regina continued. "When his spirit had freed itself from the crystal, he went to the Underworld, just like he should have. And when he was down there, he found out about the whole serum thing—it kept him from moving on, thinking that his death had caused me to do it. Once I was able to reconcile myself, he moved on and …"

"Zeus sent him where he belonged," Emma said knowingly.

Regina nodded. "As far as Zeus was concerned, Robin's death shouldn't have happened. So he was just … righting a wrong."

Emma reached out and put her hand on Regina's shoulder. "Good. Now, let's go get that damn wand."

Negotiations with Gold went as smoothly as they possibly could, and by the end of the afternoon, Roland was back from the Enchanted Forest. The kid was beyond ecstatic to be reunited with his whole family—his father, Regina, and his baby sister.

Meanwhile, Emma felt weirdly in denial. It was hard to believe that everything was … well, _over._

When they returned home, Henry headed up to his room to work on his homework, and Emma plopped down on the couch with a sigh. They were _home_ for real now. In their house, in Storybrooke, with everything … okay.

"You all right, love?" Killian removed his shoes and jacket before joining her on the couch. "You seem agitated."

"I'm fine." He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. "Just … I feel like there's _got_ to be something else that comes up."

"The next fight, you mean?"

"Yeah. Robin's back, the Evil Queen is gone—or, not _gone,_ I guess, just … back where she's supposed to be? I'm not gonna die, there are no more _problems_ right now. I mean, except for Gold, I guess."

Killian chuckled. "Alas, the Crocodile has always been a problem, and I'm sure he'll provide us with another conflict soon enough."

"Yeah, can you imagine how pissed he would be if he knew what had _really_ happened?"

"Which is why I agree with you that we should keep this a secret," he said firmly. "We have enough trouble with him as it is."

She nodded before something occurred to her. "Why do you think no one else remembers? Besides us, Robin and Regina, I mean."

"We broke the curse—or spell, whatever it was," he suggested.

"Robin and Regina broke the curse or spell or whatever."

He rolled his eyes. "After _we_ broke part of it, the part keeping our memories from us."

"You think it's as simple as that?"

"I suppose. Does it matter?"

"I guess not," she grumbled. She didn't like not knowing things for sure.

"So what now?" he asked, stretching his legs out.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess we just try to keep an eye on Gold. We also have to keep helping people from the Land of Untold Stories—I know a lot of them are still dealing with some significant culture shock. And I promised Aladdin that if he and Jasmine needed any help with Jafar, he could get in touch with me. But assuming that Gold behaves and everything in Agrabah is fine, I guess we'll actually just be able to be … normal." He laughed. "What? Things _could_ be normal. You keep saying I should be more optimistic!"

"It's not that, darling," he said, still chuckling. "I was thinking more along the lines of what now _tonight."_

"Oh." She covered her face with her hands. "Jesus. Yeah. I guess we should have dinner."

"That _is_ likely the best plan," he said, standing up and heading into the kitchen. "By the way, don't think I haven't noticed you've still got your shoes and coat on, love."

She chuckled and got up to put her jacket and boots away. "So strict."

Once she was done, she went back to the couch and curled up on it, watching him as he made dinner. In the short time they'd been living together, he'd expressed a serious interest in learning to cook in a modern kitchen; it had been fun to teach him, and nice to share some of the responsibility (even if she had to constantly convince him to try some more appetizing recipes—Henry continued to complain about what he referred to as the "Mackerel Incident").

"Need any help?"

"Thank you, darling, but I think I'm all set."

"Don't we have leftovers?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's too bad; this would be the perfect night for them."

"So what are you making?"

"Stir-fry. Although—bloody hell, are we out of rice?"

"No, there should be another bag."

"Are you sure? Oh, never mind, I see it. Thank you."

"No problem."

It was so strange that within the past few hours, she'd lived what felt like a whole _lifetime_ in the Enchanted Forest. And now everything was … normal. She was home, relaxing on the couch while her boyfriend cooked a late dinner and her teenaged son did his homework. This could just be her life.

She could just wake up every day next to Killian, and enjoy breakfast with him, and Henry when she had him. She could go to work and deal with mundane bullshit, like animal control or bar fights. She could grab lunch with her parents or Regina or Killian. She could have dinner at home, just like this, or go to Granny's or the loft to eat with her family, or maybe she and Killian could get dressed up and go out on dates, just for fun. She could go for a run, or stay home and watch Netflix, or reread _Harry Potter_ for the millionth time, or take Killian to see the world outside of Storybrooke.

And she could go to sleep next to him every night, and make love to him, and have him whisper into her ear how much he loved her, even though it always made her blush like crazy.

"Okay," she said out loud.

"What's that, Swan?"

"Okay, let's get married." He didn't turn towards her. "I said, let's get married," she repeated.

"I heard you, Swan."

She frowned. "So?"

He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her. "That's it? Just, 'Let's get married?' That's your proposal?"

"Hey, come on! You said you were ready to marry me, and that all I needed to do was tell you I was ready. Well, I am, so … let's get married."

He shook his head and went back to chopping up peppers. "I might not have been such a young man during that conversation, my darling, but I do recall it with clarity. And I believe I told you more than once that I was expecting something more romantic when you proposed."

She opened her mouth to argue, but remembered that he had, in fact, said that. "So you're saying _no?"_

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say _yes."_

"That's true. You're very astute, Swan."

"So if I actually _asked_ , 'Will you marry me?' what would you say?"

"Give it a go."

"Will you marry me?"

"That's the _whole_ proposal?"

She groaned. "Killian, you _have_ to answer yes or no!"

"I do not." He went over to the fridge to grab the chicken.

"Yes, you do!"

"See, if I say _no_ , it lacks nuance," he explained as he continued to make dinner. "It implies that I will not _ever_ say yes, and while it's true that I'll wait until your proposal is adequate, I doubt you'd punish me or yourself by _never_ making such a proposal. So it's likely that I will _eventually_ say yes, hence why I can't answer _no."_

"I didn't realize I was getting a TED talk, but okay."

"A _yes,_ however, _also_ lacks the necessary nuance," he continued, ignoring her. "What I mean to say is 'Yes, I will marry you once you propose properly.' But if you _know_ I will eventually say yes, you'll refuse to put any effort into your proposal. You know me well enough to know that I do love me a dramatic romantic gesture."

"I went to the Underworld to bring you back from the dead. I was going to split my heart in two and share it with you."

"That's true, but you didn't propose then, did you?"

"Uh, no."

"So it doesn't count."

She lay back on the couch with a groan. "You're impossible."

"And you love me for it," he replied affectionately.

Soon, the smell of stir-fry filled the air. "You might want to get Henry. Supper will be ready soon, and it's his job to set the table."

"Okay." But before she headed for the stairs, she walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Killian?"

"Yes, my love?"

"When I do ask—will you say yes?"

He set down the tongs on the spoon rest and wrapped his arms around her. "Yes, Swan. I will."

She grinned. "That counts!"

His frustrated sputtering as she went to get Henry was entirely worth it.

* * *

 **I'd like to thank you all for reading this story. I'm grateful for all the support and feedback, and for the love shown for this story on Tumblr in the CS Fan Fic Awards! I hope that you found the ending satisfying.**

 **Thank you again to my beta-readers: zengoalie, scapeartist, and optomisticgirl. And of course, all my thanks and love to swankkat, not just for the phenomenal artwork or the additional beta-reading, but for her incredible friendship. Please check out her Tumblr to see the artwork, including a lovely piece for this epilogue.**

 **This is the last update I'll be posting on FFnet. Please check out my AO3 page or my Tumblr for new stories!**


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